What Not to Die For
by PaleShadow
Summary: Harry returns to the boathouse to retrieve the body of a man he thought to be dead, and finds himself haunted by a familiar spirit only he can see and hear. But, little do they know, Severus isn't quite ready to give up the 'ghost' just yet...  NO slash
1. Chapter One: The Things In Between

This was a spur of the moment idea that came about from watching _Truly, Madly, Deeply,_ at an early hour of the morning... and though this fic bears no resemblance to the movie, it was a sort of inspiration all the same. As was the new (and improved?) version of Severus' death-scene Deathly Hallows: part two, and I've borrowed the setting from there, but apart from that, this fic will be firmly set in book-world, and cannon. It will have multiple chapters (half-way done with chapter two already), but will most likely be a shot fic all in all. I doubt it will span more than twelve chapters. Critiques welcome!

O

~ **Chapter One** ~

The Things In Between

...oOo...

The last moments of Severus' life had been lived in agony, between the pain of his wounds, the knowledge that he was ultimately expendable to both sides of the war, the ultimate betrayal of him by Dumbledore. He knew of the Dark Lord's thoughts on his expandability – no one was precious to that creature – but his enlightening to Dumbledore's betrayal had cut deep, for the old man had surely known that the Dark Lord would figure it out eventually; that the Elder Wand would only become his if its master was killed. And _who _was it that had become its master by completion of a task delegated to him by way of mutual agreement between Dumbledore and himself?

And the final ache of Potter himself witnessing his last breath – Lily's green eyes staring with such a mixture of raw emotion, of pity and anger and confusion and intent, that, if it were not for the fact that the green eyes regarded him from Potter's face, he would have thought Lily herself had graced him with her presence from beyond the grave – and realising that, perhaps, the boy was more like her than he had given him credit for, because Potter-senior would never have shown such compassion to one he loathed as much as Severus.

With those thoughts in mind, he had poured out his soul, not far from literally, to the boy with Lily's green eyes; every regret, every hurt, every reason, every truth he had concealed.

Why? The boy didn't _need _to know his every reason, quite the contrary; he would doubtlessly live the rest of his life, however long it may or may not extend past that moment, quite contentedly without the knowledge of Severus' past regrets.

_Don't tell me you've come to care for the boy after all? _Dumbledore had said to him the year previous. Had he really done just that? In the span of a moment? Had his every detestation of the boy – the embodiment of everything that had tormented him or been lost or withheld from him in life – bled from him along with blood he was rapidly loosing from the fatal wound in his throat?

No... not quite.

But the feeling remained that Potter needed to know, as if Severus' death would be justified if Potter knew. As if his life, and death, depended on that tiny speck of recognition for his role in everything thus far, and now his sacrifice for it. That maybe Potter would regret not knowing Severus for who he really was, as much as Severus now regretted it himself, however infinitesimal the feeling may be.

He wanted to be acknowledged, for once in his life, by someone who had never wanted or tried to use him or manipulate him. And Potter had never done either of those things, had he? Not consciously, at least... everything Severus did- had done... it had all been on the Headmaster's manipulative words and his own agonising guilt.

Severus wanted to be acknowledged, pure and simple, if only by one person on Earth, as a human who made a mistake and spent the rest of his life trying to atone for it.

"Look... at... me..."

Potter's eyes came back to meet his own, a vial of glowing blue grasped in one hand and the other pressed to Severus' throat, and Severus, consciousness fading, was once again taken aback by the compassion that lit their depths, a feeling given even for Severus who had never given him reason to care...

"You... have... your mother's eyes..."

Said eyes widened, almost dumbfounded.

And Severus saw them no more.

Now he drifted... _where _he drifted, he was not sure, but it was definitely _somewhere; _of that he was certain, and that was better than nothing, though everything in this _somewhere _appeared to be nothing at all. No sound, nor sight of colour or shape, nor feeling. Pure and never-ending clearness.

Absolutely _nothing, _and yet everything and all, both and neither.

Severus had lived his life in the shades in between, in the grey between black and white, in the shadows of light and darkness, the twilight and dawn of day and night, the line between good and evil and he had died in much the same way. Now, it seemed, he would also have to walk into oblivion and never reach the precipice where he would either fly or fall – to heaven or hell – as the sort-after precipice where he would be judged and be bestowed upon with his fate did not present itself to him.

Must he continue on in ambiguity even in death? To teeter on the barrier betwixt fates for eternity?

Could he not have the an end to it? Was fate such a cruel master that it would not grant peace at the end of the entangled web of pain and bliss that was the life that fate itself bestowed?

He'd already given himself twice-over to an exploitive master... no more.

_Enough!_

And then he saw once more.

...oOo...

..O..


	2. Chapter Two: What Was Lost and Forgotten

..O..

~ **Chapter Two **~

What Was Lost and What Was Forgotten

...oOo...

Voldemort was gone, and the weight that had been put upon Harry's shoulders was now gone as well. However, the weight of the knowledge of what had been already lost did not lessen with Voldemort's demise, if anything the losses weighed heavier; now he could mourn those losses in full, without the possibility of impending doom to focus on, which subsequently blocked out the heartache. Harry thought he had mourned the loss of his parents, Sirius, and Cedric already, but apparently he had not; for their each of their sacrifices left unhealed wounds in his heart with their each of their absences, which were now torn open afresh, along with the new wounds left by Remus and Tonks, and Fred, and Colin, and even Snape.

Too many hurts, far too many losses, too much pressure building in his chest that needed to be let out somehow... yet tears would not come, nor would words – for what could be said? – and all that there was to be done was sleep and allow time to pass. As much as the celebrations of the others cheered him, it did not heal the ache, only distracted him from it, so, when he wandered up to Gryffindor Tower at midday, willing himself to make it there before the pressure destroyed him, he didn't even bother gathering up some clean clothes and just crawled into his usual four-poster bed.

He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow...

Sleep, however, had been a fitful undertaking; plagued by nightmares and the faces of the people that had been lost; _his parent's guiding him through the forest- Sirius as he fell through the veil- Remus and Tonks laying side by side, so peacefully that they could have been sleeping- "_Harry?" _Snape's rattling breath and his last words: 'You have your mother's eyes.'-_ "Harry!"

Harry flinched as a hand gripped his shoulder, giving him a little shake. His eyes shot open and Ron's tired face swam into view, illuminated by the pale sunlight that came through Gryffindor tower's windows.

"Sorry, mate..." said Ron, smiling ruefully, "Didn't want to wake you, but Hermione and Mum have been asking after you. Ginny too- well, everyone really... Mum said you have to eat sometime... you've been out of it for- er, about eighteen hours, I think." he sat down on the edge of the bed and watched as Harry nodded and pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Um, were you-?" Ron hesitated, then shook his head, "How did you sleep?"

"Not very well," Harry admitted, his voice husky from sleep, rubbing his eyes, "Keep seeing their faces."

Ron thought about that for a moment, "Your parents?"

Harry shook his head, "Everyone."

"Oh..."

The pair sat together in silence for a long while.

"I reckon they're pretty proud of you, you know." said Ron, suddenly, "All of them would be proud."

Harry blinked, taking a moment for the words to wash over him. The negative part of his consciousness remarked that they could have been proud and still been alive... but the feeling was quickly squashed; for Ron was only tying to cheer him up, and Harry couldn't help smiling at him for his effort, "Thanks, Ron."

Ron smiled back, then wrinkled his nose at him as Harry wriggled across the bed to plant his feet on the floor.

"What?" asked Harry, wondering what happened.

"You stink." Said Ron, bluntly.

Harry took a sniff of himself.

Ah, so he did...

...oOo...

Half-an-hour later – after Harry had cleaned himself up and donned a thick, black cloak to protect him from the chill in the castle that day – the pair made their way down through the castle, passing a good part of the Hogwarts student body on the way, and a subdued Professor Flitwick, who clapped Harry on the wrist (though he supposed it would have been his shoulder if the little man could reach) and gave him a smile.

Once they reached the ground floor, Ron surprised Harry by leading him into the Great Hall, which was mostly empty of people, living or dead, sitting in clusters at their house tables, all four of which had been repositioned to their usual places. The rest of the Weasley family were huddled together at the far end of the Gryffindor table, along with Hermione, Neville and a few others that Harry couldn't put a name to. They didn't notice Harry and Ron enter.

Various bits of rubble and parts of the castle that had been damaged during the fight had been seemingly repaired. Broken architraves from the arched ceiling of the hall having been magicked back to their rightful places above, dented iron sconces had been popped back into shape and re-adhered to the walls, divotss made in the stone floor had been put back to their original state... or as 'original' as they had been before being destroyed.

Remus, Tonks, Fred, and the others had been moved away somewhere...

"Where did everyone..." Harry choked off, suddenly. He was going to say: _"Where did everyone go?"_ but really, _"Where were everyone's bodies moved to?"_ made more sense...

He couldn't bring himself to say that.

Ron seemed to understand though, his eyes tightening as he gave Harry a side-long look, "Madam Pomfrey turned the Hospital Wing into a morg- er- she turned it into a place for them- just for them. Everyone else who got hurt has been healed-up- Most of them, anyway... The few that haven't been have either been sent off to St. Mungo's or been put in the teacher's lounge- Oh, yeah – McGonagall turned Filch's favourite armchair in the teacher's lounge into a couple of canvas beds, he wasn't happy about it..."

Ron obviously wanted to talk about who was gone as much as Harry wanted to acknowledge it... of course Ron didn't, not so soon after Fred...

"Where's everyone else?" Harry questioned. The few people in the hall could barely add up to a few dozen... and people he had seen on their way down to the hall didn't make up the difference.

"Probably asleep still, mate. It's not even struck six yet..."

"In the evening?" said Harry, looking up at the palely lit clouds covering the sky in the enchanted ceiling.

"No. In the morning."

That explained the chill in the air. "I slept that long?"

Ron lifter an eyebrow, "Yeah, you were- hang on- Didn't I tell you that earlier? You were out for eighteen hours or so..."

Ron had said that, hadn't he? Harry pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, "Ah, yeah, you told me. Sorry. Must still be half asleep..."

"No worries..." said Ron, though he regarded him with some concern.

"Harry!" Hermione called, a tentative smile gracing her lips as she waved to them, motioning for them to come over. She had obviously been the first to notice the two of them standing there and, at her call, almost all eyes in the hall whipped around to look at them. Molly Weasley was up and trotting over to them within a heartbeat.

"Harry, dear!" Molly cried, cupping Harry's face in her hands and looking him over, "I was starting to worry... Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough..." Harry muttered, slightly embarrassed with her fussing over him.

Molly's eyes narrowed, not quite believing him, but let him get away with his untruth still, placing as hand on his back and guiding him back to the group at the table

"Well, then, let's get you something to eat... Hm?"

It took a moment for him to realise she was asking if he was hungry, as he squeezed in between Hermione and Ginny to sit, who each snatched one of his hands in theirs the moment he'd settled, and Ron answered before Harry had a chance to reply to her.

"Said he was starving not ten-minutes ago, Mum."

That was a lie; Harry felt like eating as much as he felt like staying awake – which was not at all; he was actually quite convinced that his bed was calling him back...

It would do him no good to starve though.

"I'm about the same as Harry, Mum." said George, a tight smile on his lips, "Wasting away..."

"Can I have pancakes, Mum?" Ginny piped up, tightening her grip on Harry's hand comfortingly.

"Yes, yes. Whatever you want, dears- Winky!"

Winky the house elf literally _winked _into existence at Molly's feet.

"You is calling Winky, Ma'am?"

"Yes. We would like some breakfast- it's early, I know, but would that be alright?"

"Yes! Winky is doing what the Missus wishes even if the time is early! What food is it the Missus wishes Winky to bring?"

There was a clamour as the group put in their orders with the tiny house elf, who was wide-eyed and looking vastly overwhelmed by the time she got around to Harry, who was the last of the group to put in a request, and he felt so sorry for her that he just asked her to bring whatever she thought he might like.

"Yes, Master Harry Potter, sir!" she said, a small bit of relief passing across her features, then she disappeared with a _pop!._

...oOo...

By the time seven o'clock came around, the group were finishing off their breakfasts. Harry's – being Winky's choice – consisted of hot, honey and cinnamon porridge, toast, jam, and an assortment of fruit, which, he had to admit, had been perfect for him a that moment, as he could wolf it down as quickly as his new-found hunger had appeared once the smell of cinnamon had reached his nose.

Then he'd called her back for seconds.

Feeling much more alive, and less like an inferi, Harry talked with Hermione, who squeezed his hand much the same as Ginny had and did not ask him how he was feeling, for she seemed to know the truth just by looking at him, as she always did.

She told him that many of the younger students, those who were not hurt in the battle, had left Hogwarts and gone home. Quite a lot had decided to stay to help repair the castle too, although most who stayed were legal adults in the Wizarding world, thus not being compelled to have their parents lug them away – Neville had interrupted quite proudly at that point to tell Harry that his Nan had tried to force him to go home, but he had refused, and old Mrs. Longbottom had said she was _proud _of him for it- though she was still going to wallop him for being smart with her when she got her hands on him next time he saw her.

Luna had stayed at the castle as well, but she was outside with her father, Xenophilius, giving Hagrid a hand to repair his destroyed hut.

Apparently the Malfoys had slipped away during the night; they were nowhere to be found on Hogwarts property, and yet nobody saw them leave, and no one knew where they had gone. Kingsley Shacklebolt, newly elected Minister for Magic, suspected the three had returned to the Malfoy estate and he was sending some people there to check up on them, and to make sure they hadn't left the country... and wouldn't do so any time soon.

Eventually, the conversation turned to the casualties, as Harry knew it inevitably would. He forced himself to listen and willed away the tightness in his chest as Hermione told him that Andromeda Tonks would be coming to Hogwarts that day to make funeral arrangements for her daughter and Remus... and she was going to bring baby Teddy along with her, as she had no one sit for him for the day. And though the looming prospect of their funeral tightened the vice on his heart, the prospect of seeing his godson made Harry smile.

The Creevey's had been told of their son's death, and Dennis had gone home to be with them...

With all that had happened, even with Shacklebolt instated as temporary Minister of Magic, Minerva had left the castle during the evening before to make a statement to the Ministry in its entirety about the happenings at Hogwarts, and to claim her title as Headmistress, in lieu of the recent deaths of the two previous headmasters.

Harry silently hoped that she would tell them truth of it; that, yes, Snape had become headmaster on Voldemort's order, but the opportunity for such a position only came about because of Dumbledore's plan to protect the students of Hogwarts; their agreement for Snape to kill Dumbledore to gain Voldemort's trust...

The image of Snape's pale face, in those final moments before the spark had left the man's eyes, swam back into the forefront of his mind again – _'You have your mother's eyes...'_.

"Will McGonagall arrange a funeral for Snape?" Harry asked, mostly of Hermione, but directing it to the others as well.

"I suppose she will." said Hermione with a nod, "He was-" she broke off abruptly, the colour rapidly draining from her face, eyes wide, "Oh no..." she looked around wildly, to the Weasleys, to Neville, who all wore a look of similar shocked realisation, "Did anyone go and- Oh _no!"_

Harry stared at her in confusion as tears stared forming in Hermione's eyes, "What happened?"

"Oh, _Harry!" _she squeaked, "With everything- Lupin and Tonks and Fred and everyone who was hurt and- Oh, how could I forget him!" she burst into tears, clutching at his arm, "I'm so _sorry_! It's all my fault! I _should _have remembered him..."

Harry was absolutely baffled, "What-? Hermione, I don't understand..." Looking around him, all he saw were expressions of varying amounts of guilt, "Forgot _what_, Hermione? Snape? But, he's- … oh."

They had forgotten to bring Snape back to the castle.

Snape's... body.

Harry's mind reeled a little at that; not even _one_ person had remembered him? Remembered that he had died? Had no one cared enough to remember? Despite everything the man had done?

He felt sick again.

Hermione was sobbing openly while Molly patted her back comfortingly and cooed to her; "It's _not_ your fault. We all forgot. It's terrible, yes, but we did..."

Someone still had to go and get the man. Go and bring him home- because Hogwarts _had_ been his home, as much- no, _more _than it had been for Harry.

Harry stood.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione yelped, wiping her tears hurriedly and hopping up after him, "I'll go with you."

"Yeah, same here." said Ron, moving to follow suite, as were many of the others.

But, Harry shook his head stiffly, "No."

They froze.

"I think..." Harry began, wondering how to word what he wanted to say, "I think I'd rather bring him back myself. By myself..."

There was a long pause, glances were exchanged, and Mrs. Weasley stepped forward.

Then she hugged him.

"I think I understand, Harry, I do..." her voice was muffled as she spoke into his shoulder, "But, are you _sure _ you don't want any of us to come? If- if _he _was the one that k-_killed _poor Severus, then... it won't be pleasant..."

"I want to," said Harry, as he shook his head again, fractionally, "I know what to expect... I was there." Molly's grip tightened around him – she mustn't have know that.

"I watched him die."

Molly made a strangled sound and released him, swiping at her eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, searching them for something, then nodded, just once, and turned back to her family (and extended family).

"Stop gawking and finish your breakfast!" she snapped at them.

They complied hurriedly enough, though Ron and Hermione held back. Harry gave them the most reassuring smile he could muster, which seemed to appease them both, before he made his was out of the hall.

...oOo...

Truth be told, Harry had forced himself to hold back his initial feelings when Hermione told him of their non-accomplishment. It had been ridiculous; on one hand he'd wanted to cry, and on the other he'd wanted to rant and rave about the injustice of it all.

Severus Snape had actually been _forgotten. _By everyone.

_Even by me... _Harry thought, guiltily, as he stood on the topmost stair of the stairway that descended down to the boat house.

Did Snape really deserve to be forgotten after everything that had happened? It was true that the man had never been a particularly pleasant person, but neither was his demeanour completely unjustified... Harry wasn't going to pretend to understand every action and reaction of Snape's that he had the opportunity to witness, but Harry _thought_ that he certainly understood more about the man now then he ever had done so before.

Recollections of Snape's memories began playing through his mind once more, as he descended the stairway, memories witnessed through the pensive, both spied upon and freely given, and the man's final moments as well...

An abusive muggle father, no friends... not until he met Lily. Then he went off to Hogwarts, where everyone but Lily and his fellow Slytherins had refused to give him the time of day- unless it was the Marauders to pick on him for no good reason other than him being- well – _himself. _For not even his house affiliation could justify the way Harry's father had tormented him through school... interest in the dark arts or not.

That torment had continued on for most of his school life, and it never stopped – because no one wanted to stop it. Not even Dumbledore tried to stop it.

Until it finally ended his friendship with Lily.

Was that what drove him to join the Death Eaters? The loss of Harry's mother's friendship? She'd said to Snape that she didn't like his other friends; Mulciber, Malfoy – people who went on to become Death Eaters as well – had they driven him to it? Or had he chosen to do it without input from either side?

It seemed as if Snape had been caught in the middle for a very long time.

No, Snape was a truly complicated person to understand, but, at the same time, it was not so difficult to understand the complications that had put him there.

And Lily had, more or less, been the catalyst for it all.

Regardless of all of that, however, the fact remained that, without him, the war would never have ended – both times. Harry would never have been 'chosen' and Voldemort would not have been destroyed in the first war – his Horcruxes never discovered or found. Then, the second war... if not for Snape; Harry would have fallen off of his broom in his very first Quidditch match in his first year and that would have been the end of that. Voldemort would have reached the Philosopher's Stone and rebuilt himself, and his Horcruxes would have still gone undiscovered.

Snape was actually quite a hero, and Harry thought he should be hailed as one.

It was then, with that thought in mind and the decision to make sure that everyone knew the truth of it, that Harry entered the boat house...

...oOo...

O

PS: This one is more than triple the size of the last. Maybe I should get a life... or a review, that would suffice to validate my existence. ;)


	3. Chapter Three: Return for a Reason

..O..

~ **Chapter Three** ~

Return for a Reason

...oOo...

The transition from his drifting state in his own personal... _something _to consciousness happened, it seemed, in the blink of an eye; his vehement internal scream of _enough! _had brought it about, and the return of his sight along with it.

The first thing he saw was a black boot.

His _own_ boot, glistening slightly with a polished shine in the pale light that filtered into the boat house through the tall glass windows behind him. The boot – and his foot, inside – appeared to still remain attached to the his leg, and then to the rest of his body as it should.

That was promising.

Then he noted the presence of the vast amount of blood pooled around said boot, and around his body in general, which had darkened at the edges as it dried over the hours that he had obviously been left there for.

And that was _not_ so promising.

He experimentally moved his foot, but couldn't even manage a twitch. He couldn't feel it at all... or _anything _for that matter – he felt incredibly light and pain-free, in fact. Wouldn't it be just his luck – or thanks to the terrible overseer of his fate – if he managed to live against all odds, only to be come a bloody full-body paralytic and from then on be barely able to do more than sit strapped-upright in a chair at St. Mungo's and drool.

Not at all a pleasant prospect.

… No, on second thought, that didn't make any sense. Even paralytics maintained _some _feeling in their bodies... and he had already accessed that he couldn't feel _anything _anywhere- he wasn't even _breathing _for goodness' sake! He felt nothing- actually, he felt cold, but that was about it. Perhaps he'd become a ghost and-

Then it hit him.

_Oh..._

Severus _was_ a ghost.

Well... that was just bloody brilliant, wasn't it? A slave to two perfectly mental masters in life and now a slave to death itself. Had he really been such a bastard in life that he was never to be allowed peace in death? He was going to be doomed to haunt Hogwarts along with the Baron and Nick for all eternity... was there, perhaps, a snake-bitten league of ghosts, maybe like Nick's headless hunt, that he could join and compare battle-scars with to pass the time?

An endless amount of time.

His mind reeled at the thought... if he could still say he possessed a mind.

He didn't _want_ time; he'd had far too much of it already – sixteen years more of it than he'd wanted, in fact. He had been ready to jump from a high altitude after Lily's death, before Dumbledore had pulled him back and given him a reason to keep on living, to repent for his mistakes, which had lead to sixteen years of unwanted time to torment himself through, to dwell on the past and the oh-so-many _what-if_s. Time in which to save the lives of _others_, while he had no desire to save himself.

He wasn't aware that wishes could be granted in halves, but it appeared he _had_ gotten what he wished for – to die – except fate had really missed the point of it, hadn't she? To him, the point of dying was to stop living, to no longer be a part of the living world. And that seemed to be exactly what he would be forced to do; watch life continue around him.

Well, he thought he'd rather be alive if that was the case. At least in life he would not be denied life's simple pleasures, as he would be now as a ghost – smell, touch, and taste...

If he was to be dead, he'd rather be properly dead and be _gone, _not continue on as a ghost.

And he couldn't help but notice that there was no small amount of irony in his predicament.

Severus was stuck in the middle once again.

It seemed that fate was, apparently, a bit of a sadist.

… _perfect_.

Severus was not sure how long he waited, though he was not sure what he was waiting _for_... but he gathered that it must be early in the morning, as the pale sunlight that reflected off the toe of his boots had become brighter. He could almost _imagine _the warmth of its rays... then an interesting thought occurred to him: _If_ he was a ghost – and all signs pointed to that being fact – then, why was he still seemingly inside his physical body? Should he not be able to move about as the other ghosts of Hogwarts did? Wasn't this the moment when some kind of spirit-guide was supposed to appear before him and hand down the facts and laws of his existence, or something similar, as they did in muggle fairy-tales...?

_What am I supposed to do?_

He barely had a moment to ponder that last thought before a person walked- no- _tip-toed_ into the boathouse.

Potter.

… _he survived?_

Did that mean the Dark Lord was still-

"I'm sorry, sir..." said Potter, a positively guilty expression on his face as the boy looked down at him, without directly focusing on him.

"I would have come sooner, but..." he trailed off, frowning, then shook his head, "Just- sorry."

Potter knelt down beside his body, removing his wand from his pants pocket and turning it over slowly in his hands.

"He's dead. Volde- er, sorry- the Dark Lord, I mean... I killed him- er, well, actually the wand did – it back-fired, you see, when he tried to kill me again... because the wand- the Elder Wand was mine, because I disarmed Malfoy, and Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore... it didn't matter that... that you killed him..."

The boy paused in his rambling wave of information for a moment.

"There was no reason for him to kill you, either. It was pointless. The wand wasn't yours to claim it from..."

What was Severus supposed to say to _that_? _Thanks for informing me that my death was meaningless? _Oh, right, he could say nothing, because he was- wait...

A ghost.

Shouldn't Potter be able to _see_ him somehow?

He needed to figure out how to detach himself from his body, perhaps that was the issue... could he talk while he remained attached?

"I'm probably mad." Potter continued, unaware of Severus' internal disarray, "Talking to a dead guy... ha!" he shook his head again and looked away with a self-depreciating chuckle, which dissolved into something that sounded very much like a sniffle.

Severus didn't think he could handle it if Potter started sobbing over his corpse. And why _was _he talking to him anyway? Sure, Severus _could_ hear him, but the boy certainly didn't know that!

_It's stress_, he decided. _Post-traumatic._

_Oh, well, here it goes... something simple- Ah!_

"Potter." he said, that was simple enough. His own voice reached his non-corporeal ears, though he did not feel his lips move, dead _or_ ghostly. Maybe he could only _imagine_ speaking...

But the boy froze, and turned back to him, slowly, his brows drawn together.

Well then, not imaginary. Perhaps his could project his voice?

Potter looked baffled, "I think I really _am _going mad, I swear I just heard- no, no I didn't..." he stood abruptly and shrugged off his cloak, then pointed his wand down at Severus. And before he could utter another word, Potter muttered "_Wingardium Leviosa._". Severus levitated off the ground.

"Sorry about this, sir." he said, then threw his cloak over his limp, floating body. It covered his face.

Great. With one word Severus had managed to make Harry-bloody-Potter doubt his own sanity. No more talking for him for now, then. He needed to get out of his body first – it wasn't as if he could use it any more anyway... though the thought of abandoning it made him uneasy.

_But, how do I do it?_

He meditated on it as Potter took him where ever it was he had to be taken; it wasn't as if he couldn't see where they were going with Potter's cloak over his head.

Scenarios formed in his thoughts; maybe he could pull himself out physically- or as physically as a metaphysical being could manage, at least. Maybe he had to visualise it; make a certain, conscious choice to be freed from himself and it would simply _be _in reality.

He attempted his theories as he floated along to his unknown destination.

None worked.

No matter how hard he tried to move, or visualise moving, he could not wrench his being from his body; not even a single finger.

A morbid thought occurred to him then, one that suggested that he could not remove himself from his body _because _of his body – Did it have to be destroyed? Cremated? Or laid to rest in some way or another... – but the thought was waved away quickly enough. Hadn't dear, old Binns appeared before anyone had even found his body? He'd merely woken up one morning and continued on his usual day without even realising he was dead.

_Well, _didn't _that_ slaughter his theories on visualising his release? Binns obviously hadn't had to do any of that, or else he would have realised his ghostly predicament before turning up for his morning class and terrifying his students.

Binns' classes had been his 'unfinished business' so-to-speak...

_Ah!_

That was it! His unfinished business. Perhaps _that_ would be his catalyst – his reason to leave his body. Now that he thought about it, it really made sense: Binns had his classes... Moaning Myrtle- her reason would have been... her need to moan? She would have wanted to tell people she died, the little gossip. And Nick... he'd wanted revenge for being killed- oh, and having his head _nearly_ hacked off with a blunt axe...

Severus just needed to figure out what _his_ reason was...

… but nothing in particular sprang into mind.

This was going to take a while.

...oOo...

Harry was feeling particularly ill by the time he reached the entry hall once more, with Snape floating eerily in-toe. Not so much for reasons that would have been thought of first by anyone else with a dead man hovering nearby, but because Harry had managed to frighten himself for a moment...

He had been talking to Snape, which, considering the man's condition, was not really a trait held by someone who was completely stable.

Then he had been so, _so_ sure that he had heard Snape's voice... and for just that one second he'd thought that Snape was- no, he hadn't thought anything of the sort; the man was dead. Simple as that. Dead men didn't speak, and they certainlydid _not _come back to life.

But, when the realisation had reaffirmed itself that it _was not possible _for him to hear Snape's voice, his mind had strayed, for one tiny moment, flitting through his memories – memories of the Resurrection Stone. And the thought that anything was possible...

But it wasn't possible!

What was _wrong_ with him?

Harry stood there silently, in the entry hall, his tumultuous thoughts consuming him far more than he would have thought they were able to. Full of _why_s and _if_s and _maybe_s, all coloured darkly by his own confusion and pain.

And in the midst of the all rest, a question prodded him insistently; why was Snape's death affecting him so much more profoundly than anyone else's? It was as if he had some kind of tangible connection to the man that had both tormented him endlessly, and yet had bravely protected him so selflessly, for so very long.

He could feel that familiar pressure building in his chest again, to the point that he felt he might well crack straight down the centre of his chest.

"Harry?"

Harry's head whipped around to see Hermione, standing in the doorway of the Great Hall. Her teary gaze lingered on the prone figure of Snape beside him before looking Harry in the eyes with a silent question of: '_Are you okay?_'

He honestly didn't know if he was alright or not.

"I'm fine." said Harry, giving himself an internal shake; he could question himself further later, in private, and break down too if he felt the need, as he felt he might do soon. No reason to offload his dark mood onto Hermione...

"Are you sure, Harry?" said Hermione, taking a step towards him, "You really don't look-"

"I'm fine, Hermione, really." Harry tried to mollify her, "I think I just need to sleep a little more... after I go to the hospital wing with-" he gestured to Snape.

Hermione bit her lip, worrying at it, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No! I mean- no. It's alright. I'm fine." Why did he have to sound so much like he was trying to convince himself of that?

He made to walk to the marble staircase, when Hermione's voice pulled him back.

"Harry-" he looked back to her, and she swallowed noticeably, "You know you- that you're allowed to- I mean, it's- It's alright to feel what you're feeling, Harry... you know that, don't you? It's okay. Just please- _please- _don't shut me- _us_- out... not like last time... with Sirius..."

Harry's heart clenched at the mention of that name, but he forced a smile, "Thanks, but I really am-"

"You're a terrible liar, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled in spite of himself and turned away quickly, so she didn't see it break a moment later.

"Thank you, Hermione." he mumbled, surprising himself by how suddenly hoarse his voice had become, and walked away hurriedly.

It didn't feel right to burden her with his inner-turmoil over everything – he didn't want to burden _anyone_, when they already had their own demons to deal with for the moment.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he had talked to Snape in the boathouse earlier – it was a means for him to offload just a little without making a nuisance of himself to anyone, and to Snape in particular, because, if the man was alive – after being considerably affronted by Harry blubbing to _him _– he would doubtlessly have told Harry something along the lines of: "Suck it up, Potter, and get on with it, because it's going to get worse before it gets better."

… he could almost hear Snape's voice again.

...oOo...

Granger had done it.

At least Potter was not sobbing on his chest, he was thankful for that. And he still couldn't see him either, thank Merlin. It was awkward enough listening to the boy's faint sniffles and haphazard gait as he walked along – headed to the hospital wing, he'd heard. Severus assumed that was where his body was to be placed for the time being – it was almost painful to listen to; Potter was obviously quite distressed. It couldn't be only because of Severus' death, surely?

No, there had to be more to it than that.

A door creaked.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Potter's strained voice reached his ears again, calling out softly.

There was no reply.

Potter muttered a low oath and small click signalled the closing of the door once more.

Slow footsteps seemed to echo loudly in the absolute silence of the room.

"You can stay here, Professor." Potter whispered, and Severus heard the rustling of fabric near to him.

A moment later, his sight returned when Potter removed his cloak from his face, and Severus found himself staring at the arched, white ceiling of the hospital wing... and Potter's haggard face.

Potter made a sound- Severus wasn't sure how to describe it- and the boy whispered a string of spells, most of which sounded very much like cleaning charms.

"That's better..."

Ah, Severus must've looked a fright considering the way he had died. Potter had cleaned him up.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

Then, in a movement that surprised him even more, the boy lifted his hand to touch Severus' face, and closed his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

He swore he could _feel _the boy's touch.

But now he couldn't see again. _Why _couldn't he see anyway? It wasn't like he was _using _ the eyes in his body!

His complaints were instantly silenced when he felt – and he was _sure _he really _felt_ it this time – both of his hands being grasped.

Warmth. That was it, not the touch itself as such, but the warmth of it, and the heat spread from the point of contact like hot liquid through his non-existent veins. It shot up his arms until he was fully aware that he did indeed still possess the limbs, while before they had felt like the they weren't there; a mere memory of their existence.

Potter arranged Severus' arms so his hands were clasped over his chest, but the boy remained still for a long moment after with one of his own hands placed over Severus' two clasped ones.

"I was wrong." said Potter, softly, tightening his grip for a moment then removing it all together.

The warmth remained without the touch, still spreading like warm treacle through him, though it began to fade slowly as the moments ticked by.

_What could _that_ be?_

The sound of Potter's retreating footsteps told Severus the boy was leaving, the creak of the door was heard once more...

Then Severus was suddenly being dragged across the hospital wing, leaving his body behind.

…oOo...

O


	4. Chapter Four: Surreality and Sadness

Thanks again for your reviews last chapter! Especially mycanvasisblank, her review managed to bring a tear to my eye. :)

I hope Harry's personality is a little clearer in this one. I wanted him to be a bit all over the place at first... I imagine those first few weeks after the battle would have been difficult to cope with. Before the emotional wounds had time to heal.

O

**Chapter Four: Surreality and Sadness**

…..oOo...

Severus was confused, to say the least, when he found himself being dragged across the hospital wing against his will. He hadn't _done _anything, he hadn't thought of anything in particular but the effect of Potter's touch – reveling in the lingering warmth that coursed through his being – before he suddenly could see again and the arched ceiling above seemed to be moving of its own accord, but that couldn't happen...

He'd turned his head without thinking, realizing after the fact that he could_ move _again, and saw his own body, laying serenely on white sheets, drifting away from him. But it was the other way around, wasn't it? _He_ was the one that was moving – sliding along in mid-air – away from his body.

It was surreal.

His movement stopped abruptly, remaining floating two feet above the floor on his back and almost directly in front of the hospital wing doors. Well, that had been strange... what had caused it? Nothing he'd done for himself before would free him from his body, and it now seemed that Potter had done it for him with a touch, by accident, for goodness sake... why was it that every time something happened in his life, or his death, Potter was involved somehow?

Severus' feelings were ridiculously mixed about it; on one hand he was having a small _hallelujah _moment in thanks for _Saint _(oh, how ironic that statement was now!) Potter's help. On the other, he was fuming; _he _wanted have freed himself in his own time! Bloody, meddling Potter! And still his underlying confusion and annoyance was still present of _why _any of it had to be happening at _all_.

He allowed himself several moments of his mixed internal ranting before his gaze lit upon his own body once more.

Looking at himself on the outside six feet away sobered him.

Regardless of how he felt about any of it, his predicament was blatantly obviously happening and there seemed to be very little he could do about it. So, dissolving into a blithering mess and screaming complaints to the heavens would do him little good. He couldn't very well be resurrected, and he certainly couldn't die twice, unless he stuck himself in the path of a basilisk as Nick had done five years previous.

As he'd said to Potter earlier: Suck it up and get on with it.

_Well then, now what?_

Perhaps the first thing would be to get himself upright and standing.

Testing his limbs proved easy enough now that he was free to use them, and it felt much the same way as it had when he was alive, just less pronounced, like what he felt was only a vivid memory of what it felt like before. He reached his hand towards the ceiling and felt the muscles in his arm contract and tense, but _not quite_. The feeling was muted, distant, though the movement itself was by no means the same and was just as responsive as it had been when he was alive.

The same initial thoughts triggered the movements also, so the conscious thought to stand must be the same as it had been, and it would feel more or less the same as well, he decided.

With that, he made the move to sit upright, like sitting up in bed...

… and turned himself in a half somersault, ending up with his head pointed to the floor.

Thank god no one was around to witness that.

_Okay... _how was he supposed to go about this?

Water, Severus decided, was the key. He was used to working with gravity, a surface always under foot. He was now working without any of that, no gravity, no surfaces, no up or down, much as it would be if he were underwater. And though water still held some of those traits, they were muted, and being underwater was more or less like moving in three-dimensional space, like what he had done just now, just without the movement of the water itself, cause by tides and what-not...

In thinking that though, he was certainly_ not _going to go about his UN-merry way using a butterfly stroke.

But, it was something to keep in mind.

He stretched himself out, ramrod straight, so he hung upside-down in mid-air, and willed himself to, in a way, 'fall' sideways. He did one full three hundred and sixty degree spin before he caught himself and halted right-way-up.

Now, that hadn't been _too _difficult.

Again, thank _god _there was no one there to witness that.

Although he _did_ have an audience, they were hardly in a condition to critique him. If the other beds in the hospital wing were anything to go by, they were the same as he was- or had been. Shrouded, still figures occupied almost every bed. He didn't want to count them... even one was too many.

Suddenly feeling quite out of sorts, he walked towards the door – the movement of doing so, thankfully, working the same way as it had when he was living – reaching out for the handle out of habit... his hand passed through the door.

His snatched his hand away, inhumanly fast, as if he'd been stung; a momentary pang of panic flaring up inside him before he gave himself a little mental shake and was reminded, yet again in the space of so many moments, that things were not as they had been.

_Incorporeal... right._

Severus steeled himself and stepped through the door.

It wasn't so bad, a faint feeling of coolness in place of where the door passed through him

The floating thing was a bit unnerving though, and he was very aware of the fact that his feet did not touch the ground. Instead, his steps connected with the air an inch or two above the floor. But he did that, as long as he paid attention, it was really quite easy to move about. At least when he restricted his movements to those used when he was living.

In the hall outside the hospital wing, a lone figure caught his eye.

Potter.

The boy sat on the floor in the hallway, his back pressed against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest, he'd wrapped his arms around his legs and forehead pressed into his knees.

His shoulders were shaking.

He looked... broken.

Then, jaded green eyes lifted up to look straight toward Severus.

oOo

Harry couldn't stand it.

He couldn't bring himself to leave Snape there in the hospital wing in that condition, so he'd cleaned him up to the best of his magical abilities (and cleaning spells were _not _his strong-suit), but the moment he'd moved the man's hands and placed them over his chest, and felt the cold, clamminess of his skin, something in him had snapped and he just could not stand being in the room any longer, amongst all the people that had been lost, and he fled.

He had only managed to travel a few meters down the hallway before his own breath had nearly choked him as it left him in a rush and he'd just caught onto the wall before he sunk down like a stone in the lake and stayed there.

All those people, they were all dead, and it was all his fault!

A small voice of rationality in the back of his mind reason that it could not possibly be all his fault, but Harry wasn't listening to it. Too overcome by grief to care if his actions made sense or not, and nothing much he had done that day had made much sense to him, his only moments of clarity being his thoughts on Snape's heroism as he walked down to the boathouse earlier that morning.

Then he'd slowly started falling apart...

Talking to Snape; what happened in the boathouse had been mad, thinking the man spoke in turn was even more mad, but that little bit of speaking on Harry's part had given him just a tiny bit of a relief for the feelings that sprang up inside him when he saw Snape once more, lying in exactly the same position he had been left in.

Hermione; she was wonderful, brilliant, she knew exactly what to say when it needed to be said, but her words had brought his feelings of grief and guilt to the surface once more when he was trying so hard to keep them locked away. Keep them from Hermione, from Ron, and Ginny – all of them, because they all had their own grief to deal with.

The Hospital Wing; walking into that room, filled with so many people that Harry had known, all of which had lost their lives because Harry had returned to Hogwarts that night. None of them should have had to die. Not one.

And then, Snape's hands; that had been the final blow. The feeling of his cold hands had driven a knife into the shell that had been just barely keeping Harry's emotions in-check since he woke that morning – a shield that had been in place for years now, probably ever since Cedric's death, and had been ever so slowly eroded as time went on.

Because, –even though _none_ of them should have died– out of everyone, Snape could not be dead. It simply did not make sense because, surely, the cold and callous professor that Harry had know for so long, and the jaded man that inhabited the memories in the pensive, could not be the same man that now lay prone on a bed in makeshift morgue.

To think that someone who had been that strong could die...

His parents had been strong, but he hadn't known them. Sirius, Dumbledore, Lupin and Tonks had been strong too, but he'd never had the chance to really get to know them... not well enough.

Harry had _hated _Snape for years – truly _loathed _him, and he'd thought he knew exactly what the man was like, but now Harry had had such a vast amount of absolute truth given to and laid out before him, showing every bit of selflessness the man possessed.

Even if Snape still remained quite an enigma to him, it was entirely impossible to for Harry to hate him any longer.

He was a true hero.

That was what made it so much harder to accept his death.

Harry felt his battered emotional shield shatter and he broke down right then and there in the hallway, sobs wrenched from somewhere deep inside him as he tucked into himself and pressed his forehead into his knees.

He sat there for a while.

When he finally managed to master himself once more, he wasn't sure how long he had been there. It couldn't have been too long, as the angle of the sunlight outside had barely changed, and no one had stumbled across him yet, for which he was thankful.

It was then that he became aware of someone watching him; that strange little sensation that bored into the space between his shoulder blades. Had someone come looking for him?

Slowly he lifted his head and looked up and down the hallway, gaze lingering in the direction of the Hospital Wing doors. For a moment he though he saw someone by the doors...

… but no one was there.

…..oOo...

O

Kinda short-ish this time, but it felt like this was the logical end of this chapter and I couldn't make myself tack-on more at then end. But, it means the next chapter will be up sooner than usual. :)

Oh, and just a quick note I feel I should share; as of next Tuesday (July 26th) I'll be in hospital for anywhere up to a week, so, sadly, there won't be any new chapters over that time period. Hope you can all wait that long. :P

That being said, I hope to have two more chapters up before then.


	5. Chapter Five: Seen and Unseen

Hopefully this chapter answers (however cryptically) a few questions that have being hanging around (looking at you PersianPianist ;). )

Thanks again for your lovely reviews! And to blossoming art: So, glad you're enjoying this story so much. And I hope I'll be back soon. :)

O

**Chapter Five: Seen and Unseen**

…...oOo...

Severus, once again, was suffering from no small amount of shock.

Potter had looked at him, focused right on him, but could not see him.

Surely he could see him... Potter must have just thought he imagined it. He didn't seem all too stable at the moment...

There was nothing for it.

"Potter." he called, as he had earlier. Potter twitched, but did nothing more than raise a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and groan.

"Potter...-" another twitch, "-look at me."

On those last words, the boy flinched as if he'd been struck, looking around him in a wide-eye shock, but still did not seem to be able to see him.

What the hell was going on? Was he a ghost or not? Or was all of this some kind of backwards brain-sick fantasy that was playing out in his ostensibly unsound mind?

Potter stood from his curled up position on the floor, suddenly looking a little murderous.

"Peeves!" he snapped, to the air, "If that's you; knock it off. It's not funny..."

Oh, _wonderful_. First he managed to make the boy think he was insane, now his presence had been put down to Peeves the bloody Poltergeist on a prank.

"Really, Potter, do I _sound _like Peeves to you?"

Potter skittered, a nervy little dance on his toes, and turned, bracing himself against the wall with one hand and squinting in Severus' vague direction with wild eyes.

"Who are you then?" he paused, "Bloody Baron?"

Severus rolled his eyes, not that Potter saw it, "No... is my voice not familiar enough for you?"

A part of him was reproving his want to mess with the boy when he was so obviously out-of-sorts, especially considering his earlier regret of treating the boy as he had all those years, for assuming the boy was his father over again, but he couldn't quite resist the open possibility for theatrics in this current situation. It allowed him to secure a little bit of control over _something,_ in a time where he had no control over anything.

As they say; old habits die hard. Even in death, apparently.

Potter was shaking his head, "No. You sound like you're miles away. All- I dunno... _echo-y_? and stuff..."

"Such eloquence."

_Still, _Severus thought, _how interesting._ Because Severus' voice sounded completely normal to his own ears.

Maybe he had to _allow_ people to see him? He'd always assumed the ghosts of Hogwarts had the ability to become invisible, but possibly it was the other way around; perhaps they were _always_ invisible, and had to _make_ the themselves visible to others. Now, how to do that...

Potter was walking towards him, squinting and looking around the edges of the hall like he expected him to be hiding in a corner.

"Potter, keep walking and you will walk straight through me." he warned, and Potter stopped, frozen, head tilting to one side.

"Say that again." the boy asked.

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Potter."

"... Snape?"

"Still lacking all decorum, I see. Where is my 'sir'?" Severus sighed, "Indeed. It is I."

To that, Potter brought both of his hands flying up to his face with a resounding _smack _and a groan.

What a curious reaction.

"Oh, god," Potter whimpered, voice muffled by his hands, "Oh god oh god oh god... I really have gone round the bend, haven't I... no, no, this is all a dream. Has to be."

"What am I, then?" Severus sneered, "Your fairy godmother?"

"A figment of my imagination."

Severus scoffed, "Well, if that is true, then I assure you that this '_figment_' takes offense to your imagination, or lack thereof, if _this_ is the best it could come up with."

"You always said I had no talent."

"Yes, and you never bothered to prove me wrong."

Potter did not reply, just shook his head as if he could shake Severus' voice out of his ears by force.

Well, this was going swimmingly. Severus debated with himself the best way to convince the boy of his existence. If he told him outright that he was ghost, he probably wouldn't believe it and put it down to his own imagination, as he seemed want to do at this moment. No, it was best to lead him to the answer and let him think of it on his own... and _hopefully_ he wouldn't put _that _down to insanity as well.

"Apparently, I was still giving you _too much _credit with that assessment. Because you obviously lack all discernible ability to tell fantasy apart from reality, or draw from your past experiences with the dead and apply it to the present to understand why you are currently talking to thin air. Use your head, Potter!"

Slowly, Potter splayed his fingers and peeked out through the gaps between them, scanning the air for the still invisible Severus.

"You're a ghost...?" Potter questioned, softly, unbelieving.

_Thank Merlin for that!_

"It seems that way. Yes."

The boy lowered his hands, looking stricken, "But... but _why_?"

"Believe me when I say that I have been asking myself the same question."

Potter's shoulder slumped, and he moved to lean back against the wall. Unseeing eyes flicking back and forth as he seemingly mulled something over in his mind. Severus waited with faint trace of annoyance, and he noted that tapping his toe did not have the satisfying _click _it used to.

After a moment, the boy apparently decided on something, and lifted his gaze once more with a resolute determination, scanning the air around him looking for something out of place there that could have been Severus, which he quickly ceased, with an edge of annoyance creeping into his expression, and fixed his focus on a crack in the stone-work on the opposite wall.

"_If_ you're a ghost... _if _this is real... why can't I see you?"

_Good question... _Severus still had to work on that little problem.

"You have no idea, do you?" said Potter, one corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smirk.

"I _do _have an idea, thank you very much!" Severus snapped, slightly affronted by how closely the boy hit home, "I just... have not figured out how to put my theory into to practice as of yet... " he paused, "You changed your tune quickly enough. What happened to your pleadings of insanity? I thought I was only a _figment-_" he spat the word with disdain, "-of your imagination."

Potter shrugged, "Whether I'm sane or not, there's not much point in denying this is happening, is there?

"... you overcame your denial quickly too."

"You learn to deal with stuff fast when you're running across the country with Voldemort and his lackeys snapping at your heels." he shrugged again, "It works for me."

"And what if you are merely allowing yourself to slip further into insanity by accepting this as reality?"

"If I'm already this far-gone, then I won't know any better, will I?" Potter snorted, "I'll just be packed-off to St. Mungo's that much faster for the help I need- after people notice me talking to the walls, that is..."

Severus couldn't really find fault with that rationalization.

"I don't understand, though," Potter continued, stepping away from the wall again, "Why do you sound all-"

"-'Echo-y'?" Severus offered, with a good helping of sarcasm on the side.

"Yeah that." the boy answered, eyes narrowing in annoyance again, "Where are you? I can't tell by your voice; it's kinda... everywhere and nowhere. Can you project it into my head or something?"

"I said before that you would walk through me if you did not stop. I have not moved." It was true he hadn't moved an inch, and Potter had stopped with a few feet still between them. "And _if_ I am projecting my words directly into your mind, I am not doing so by choice. I hear no difference between my voice as it is now and as it was... before. I am not trying to change that."

"Odd..." Potter murmured, reaching his hands out in front of him and walking forward, squinting again.

Severus stepped back, "What _are _you doing, Potter?"

"What do you _think_ I'm doing, _sir_?" said the boy, the corners of his mouth twitching up, "If I can't _see _you-"

"-it does not mean you can _feel_ me." Severus finished, cutting across him, just as Potter's fingertips almost brushed his chest, "Now stop it, you look like a fool under a botched _Imperius-" _Severus paused, a shadow at the end of the hall catching his eye, "-and we have company."

Sure enough, Ronald Weasley turned the corner into the hall, and Potter turned to face him.

But, as he turned, he let his arm swing out, just enough for his fingers to pass shallowly through Severus' chest.

The boy didn't appear to notice the touch, but Severus certainly did, because that inexplicable _heat _he had felt at Potter's touch in the Hospital Wing –when he had touched his flesh-and-blood hands– returned with vengeance, and spread through him like wildfire.

Whatever happened to ghosts not being able to feel?

He could swear he almost felt his heart beat as the heat spread through that space in his being.

But that couldn't be possible... could it?

oOo

Harry _did _notice the particularly chilly bite through his fingers as whipped around to face Ron, but there was little he could say at that moment. And Ron obviously couldn't see anyone other than Harry as he approached, else he would have been shouting long before he called-out "Harry!" and jogged down the hallway.

So, it wasn't just Harry that couldn't see Snape. That cleared that up... still...

_Not the greatest timing, Ron..._Harry thought. He must look like a mess, considering he'd been sobbing his heart out for a life's worth of hurt not ten minutes before and had been talking to air ever since, whilst doubting his mental capacity yet still determinately trying to be open-minded and treat the invisible Snape like he was not the _figment _of his imagination he had referred to him as initially, on the off-chance it was _not _all a psychotic fantasy.

And Ron not being able to see the man either was not raising Harry's self-assurance in his own mental stability.

When he reached Harry, Ron looked him up and down, then in the eye, and said;

"You look like crap, mate."

"Ah, tactless as ever, Weasley." Snape murmured, his voice echoing in Harry ears, but, strangely, not nearly so much as it had before...

Harry braced himself for Ron's confused gawk, or panicked shout, or wide-eyed shock- any kind of reaction, really...

But nothing happened.

Harry gawked at him.

"Er..." Ron hesitated, "Sorry? Do you want me to say you look fine?"

It took Harry a moment to catch what his friend was talking about, "What? No. You're right; I do..." he waved his hand in a 'forget it' kind of way, "Didn't you hear that just now?"

"No... hear what?"

"I don't think he can hear me, Potter." said Snape, then sighed and said softly; "The chosen one again."

Harry wouldn't have it.

"_That!_" he said, smiling at Ron encouragingly, "Can't you hear that voice?"

Ron was looking deeply concerned now, "No, Harry. I can't hear anything..." he paused, hesitating again, "You remember what happened the last time you heard voices, don't you...?"

Of course he did, how could the bloody great snake that had damn-near killed him?

"I know. But it's not that- not a snake, I mean. It's-"

"Potter." Snape cut-in, a warning, "I think you should leave it be..."

"But-"

"_Trust me_!"

Ron reached out his hand for Harry and caught his shoulder in a tight hold, "Come-on, mate..." he said, in a forced tone of soothing, "Let's go back downstairs. Might see if dad has some of old Ogden's we can pinch a swig of, eh?"

He obviously thought Harry was going a bit barmy.

"Stay silent about this for now, Potter. I think it may be the best course of action." said Snape, as Ron started pulling Harry away, "Until I can figure out how to make myself known to others..."

Harry had the distinct impression that Snape's voice was coming from _behind _him now, where as before it had really sounded as if his voice was only inside his head. Why had it changed?

He took a quick glance back over his shoulder, in the direction of the man's voice, and stopped, pulling-up Ron as well...

Because Snape really _was _standing there now. Harry could _see _him – black cloak and all! Feet not-quite touching the floor, slightly translucent and looking at Harry with an odd, calculating expression that quickly dissolved into one of confusion when he noted – what must have been – Harry's shocked face.

The man cocked his head to one side and Harry nodded in return.

Snape's eyebrows shot up.

"Come on, Harry." said Ron, pulling Harry along more forcefully, down the hall, forcing Harry to look away.

What on earth had changed?

oOo

_It _must_ be his touch, _Severus decided, as Weasley dragged a dumbstruck Potter away.

He could not confirm it as a true fact just yet, but it was a rather simple conclusion to come to.

Potter had now touched him twice, once with his physical body and once with his bodiless one, both times he had experienced that bizarre heat that coursed through his entire being, starting from the point of contact, and with both instances something crucial had happened within moments of its occurrence.

What would happen if he touched Severus again? Would others then be able to see him? Hear him?

Severus pondered for a moment whether he should follow Potter up the hall and just stick his arm through the boy to see what would happen, but thought better of it, because _if _Severus cause the same effect any other ghost made on a living being – that _chill_ – then Potter's reaction without warning would undoubtedly make Weasley cart Potter off to a loony-bin, as he already seemed want to do.

No, he could wait. Later, when Potter was alone again, he would find out for certain if his theory was correct.

What to do for the time-being, though?

Severus was running through possibilities for his free-time as he watched Weasley and Potter round the corner at the end of the hall when he was suddenly jerked forwards and continued to slide along through the air against his volition, in much the same way as he had when he had first been pulled from his body.

_What the hell-?_

He attempted to pull away from the force the dragged him, but could not release himself from it as he continued to float along the hallway, slowly loosing elevation until his feet reached the floor and he started sinking through the stone.

But as the persistent pull forced him downwards, the further it moved him along the hall and through the floor, another feeling rose up inside. A desperate sense of loss welling up within him, and an awareness that he was forgetting something important. It poked and prodded at his consciousness, telling him that that _something _was being left behind...

Severus looked back.

The second pull was drawing him back to the Hospital Wing – back to his body.

But, with nothing seeming to free him from the more controlling pull that moved him further and further away, there was little he could, and instead of continuing to oppose it; he embraced it, allowing it to take him wherever it was trying to take him.

With a swift jerk, and a feeling that he could only compare to skipping a heartbeat, he slid downwards and away.

Severus slowed again when he passed through into the room below – the entry hall – just in time to watch Potter walk into the Great Hall with the youngest Weasley boy still hanging onto his shoulder, before the insistent pull forced him along after the pair.

The realization about the explanation for it formed far too easily.

Severus swore.

Could he not be allowed even a little free space? Any choice at all?

It looked like he was tied to Potter more profoundly than he had imagined.

_Well, that answers the question of what to do to fill my time... _There was little point in making plans; He would be following Potter around until he figured out how to break the link.

With a bit of luck, his theory about Potter's touch would solve the issue, as it had solved the others- to an extent, at least.

He _could_ wait...

…..oOo...

O

Hoping to get one more chapter up tomorrow before I disappear for a week, but I'm not sure about my check-in time at the hospital (I have a pre-op appointment tomorrow and they _might _check me in then.), still, fingers-crossed! Wish me luck.


	6. Chapter Six: Questions

I'm back! Thank you to everyone who wished me well for my surgery, it went well and I should make a full recovery. I'm feeling pretty damn good too! Now I get spend the next few weeks doing nothing much but take it easy, and write this story! Speaking of which, thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter! Was lovely to read them when I got home. So, here's the next chapter (and it's the longest one yet at over 4000 words).

I actually had most of this written before I left for hospital, but I ended up rewriting the entire thing... I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless.

O

**Chapter Six: Questions**

…..oOo...

Harry could see him – _really _see him – Severus Snape standing in the hall outside the Hospital Wing in all his former glory- albeit slightly see-through.

He didn't understand! Why was it that he could _not_ see Snape for all that time and then all of a sudden _could_? They'd been talking, then Ron had shown up, Harry had felt the coolness in his fingers where they had brushed against Snape as he turned, then Ron had started carting him off and- Oh! The cold! He'd touched the invisible Snape and made him visible- wait, that couldn't be right; Harry didn't have any sort of ability that could do that kind of thing, but that was all that had happened- or it was all that Harry could _think_ of that had happened anyway...

… and it just did _not_ make sense.

"We're going to go about fixing the castle soon." said Ron, whose grip was digging into Harry shoulder as he led him down the moving staircase, "We started yesterday afternoon, after McGonagall left for the Ministry, that's why the Great Hall looks as good as it does. I think mum wants us to start on the second floor today..."

Harry was barely listening as Ron rambled on, his mind too preoccupied with thoughts of Snape's appearance and the reasons for it, as well as the man's reason for returning as a ghost at all. Why would he do such a thing? Harry knew some of the reasons for the ghosts of Hogwarts return; their regrets, or wants, or the fabled 'unfinished business', but he could not connect any of those to Snape in his mind. Who would Snape want revenge on? No one that Harry could imagine. No one that was still living, anyway. Regrets? Snape probably had tons, but were they strong enough to make him come back? Were they regrets he could atone for? That he hadn't already atoned for? As for unfinished business... Harry didn't know the man well enough to know if he had any.

The realisation of that suddenly made him feel... oddly inadequate. And the fact that, so-far, only Harry could hear or see Snape, made him aware that he was completely out of his depth. He didn't really know anything about ghosts, not really, and he didn't know what he could do, or who to ask, or who to ask that would _believe _Harry and not put his rambling about an invisible spirit down to a good thump on the head... or getting hit with the Killing Curse yet again.

_If that's not the truth of all this anyway,_ Harry thought, bitterly. Because, wouldn't it be just perfect if he managed to live until seventeen years of age, kill a Basilisk, break into the Ministry of Magic, hunt down six horcruxes, _be _a bloody horcrux, and snub Voldemort (twice), only to be put out to pasture by his own psychosis.

The Boy Who Lived Twice To Be Snuffed-out By Himself.

Brilliant.

By the time Ron had led Harry to the entry hall, Harry had noted Snape's clear-ish black boots descending through the ceiling above his head – a sight that Harry was sure he would never forget – followed shortly by the rest of Snape himself, who followed the pair into the Great Hall with a disdainful look about his pale face.

Several heads in the hall swivelled up to look as Harry and Ron walked by, but no one saw their tag-along trailing behind them.

If he was not mad, Harry thought, then he must be a lot more special than even he had given himself credit for, because even with his lack of knowledge about ghosts, he was sure there hadn't been any that could only be seen by one person. But maybe that was because no one was quite mad enough to tell their friends that they could see something no one else could...

It made Harry's head spin.

"Oh, Harry dear." said Molly, as he and Ron approached the table where Harry had been sitting not-quite-an-hour previously and had only left to retrieve a dead-man's body, which already felt like it had happened days before. Breakfast was over, it seemed, as the tables were clear of all, platters, mugs and cutlery.

Molly embraced him for a moment with a pleasant smile on her lips, though a hint of concern showed in the crease between her brows, "Are you alright?" she said softly.

Harry actually didn't know what to say. As far as Mrs Weasley was concerned Harry had just gone to find a body, but even thought that was true, Harry had also spoken to that body, then gone-on to have a conversation with its spirit.

"I'm fine." he said, awkwardly, and with what he hoped was an edge of stiffness that also conveyed an unspoken '_I don't want to talk about it.'_

The crease in Mrs. Weasley's brow deepened further, but she did not press him for more. He could see a hesitant question lingering in her expression, however.

"I put him with the others." Harry offered, a vague, stab-in-the-dark answer to question he guessed she wanted to ask.

She smiled ruefully, with a nod, and released him, then manoeuvred him into the seat he had vacated earlier.

Arthur summoned Winky once more to order a round of butterbeer.

"Given the circumstances, I think some of us need it." he said, simply, when his wife glowered at him and mentioned the time of day.

She didn't say another word on the subject after that.

Harry contented himself with sipping at his butterbeer – which really was needed, and it helped Harry relax almost instantly, even if it was only a little bit – while listening to Mrs. Weasley list off their targets for the day as things the castle needed repairs upon first and watched Snape air-walk slowly around the hall, above the heads of its occupants.

The man never strayed far away, and Harry almost had the feeling that Snape was orbiting around him, disappearing momentarily to dip through the floor between two of the tables and out of sight, only to return a moment later by floating through the wall. Until he reappeared the once more, this time behind Harry's back without his knowledge, and barked "Potter!".

Harry, to his credit, managed to stop himself from flinching away at the sound of Snape's voice, and he turned his head just enough to see the man leaning over his shoulder from behind.

"Do stop looking so utterly flabbergasted, Potter; people will think you've seen a ghost..."

Harry snickered and bit his tongue.

"Harry?" said Ginny from beside him, "What's funny?"

He shook his head quickly, "N-nothing..."

"You were laughing at nothing?"

"No... I- er-" he took a swig of his butterbeer, stalling, and it sparked an idea, "Butterbeer! Yeah, at eight in the morning. Odd, isn't it? Ha ha..."

The moment the words spilt from his lips he knew he was an idiot.

Ginny's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Wonderful excuse, Potter. Even a Longbottom wouldn't fall for such a pathetic lie." Snape sneered.

"Butterbeer... right..." said Ginny, faintly, giving him a considering look, and turned back to her own drink.

Snape made a disparaging sound, "Well done, Potter. If you _want _people to think you're loosing your mind, you're certainly well on your way to a padded cell."

Harry clenched his jaw and sighed, then Snape leaned in close once more, that familiar chill biting into the flesh of his shoulder where the man's ghostly form intersected it.

"I'm going to attempt something in a moment," said Snape, with an odd twist to the corners of his mouth that Harry couldn't place, "I will announce my presence to the hall at-large. You _may_ be the only person that can see me, but you may _not_ be the only one that can hear me."

With that, Snape drifted up to the faculty table and stood at the dais, where Dumbledore had always stood to make his speech at the at the beginning and end of the school year.

Harry shuddered as the chill seeped away once more.

…..oOo...

Severus was wrong; he _couldn't_ wait.

Quite frankly, because he couldn't stand being invisible.

Once he entered the Great Hall – which he noted was much more empty than he was used to seeing it, less than one hundred people all-in-all, and surmised they had already left or been shipped-off – and Potter had been pushed along to sit (amongst what must have been the entire Weasley family) at one of the house tables, Severus went about testing the boundaries of his new-found link.

He found that he could move about fairly freely, despite it, but he seemed to reach the unrelenting end of his tether at around twelve meters away from the boy, and could do little but walk-on-the-spot at the tether's endpoint, or turn enough to move around the inner circle – inner-sphere, technically – of the circumference of his seemingly 'approved' moving space.

It was a bubble – or possibly a very small universe – with Potter at its centre. The irritation that welled up inside him with that thought brought on a sudden need to do _something_ that would release him from his tie. Why should he wait until Potter was alone again? He would do him no harm by testing his theory about his touch right there and then... So, during his last circuit of his invisible boundary, he came up behind Potter with the will to simply poke the boy in the arm – then thought better of it when he noticed the boy's pensive confusion as he swilled his drink around in its glass.

Best not to give him a fright.

So he snapped his name at him instead.

"Do stop looking so utterly flabbergasted, Potter; people will think you've seen a ghost..."

And Potter actually _laughed. _

The little idiot.

Severus couldn't help putting in his sickle's-worth of sarcasm as Potter attempted pathetically to explain himself to the young Miss Weasley, who quite obviously didn't buy a bar of it.

When Potter had sighed and stuck his nose back into his drink, Severus leant close enough to brush his arm against the boy's shoulder and allowed the incredible warmth to spread through him once more as he warned the boy of his intention.

How could Potter's touch make him feel so... _alive_? He could have smiled with the feeling of the warmth coursing through him; it was almost euphoric.

And he felt something like regret, or possibly withdrawal symptoms, when the warmth left him as he hovered up to the faculty table and placed himself on the dais at the head of the hall.

Severus couldn't help thinking about what a curious effect it had on him.

Then, in a moment he would later justify to himself as a momentary loss of mental health and judgement caused by the strange dysphoria from the loss of the warmth, Severus loudly announced, straight-faced, to the occupants of the hall, that he, Severus Snape, had returned from the dead and would be taking his rightful place as the first ghostly headmaster of Hogwarts, and that any complaints could be forwarded to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, thank you very much.

Of course, no one heard him, or saw him standing there.

Severus had already expected that that would be the case – and was thankful that it was, considering what he had said – but still... Severus' short contact with Potter had done nothing more to his being than it had before but addle his mind. His theory had been wrong.

Even still, Potter, amidst his chattering, but subdued company, and despite Severus' prior warning, guffawed loudly, staring up at Severus like the man had suddenly grown a set of horns. He quickly attempted to cover it by turning the laugh into a coughing fit, but it did him no good, and merely earnthim a sound pounding across the shoulders from the youngest Weasley boy, who waggled his eyebrows at Granger and jerked his head in Potter's direction in a _'See, I told you so!'_ way that was obviously an attempt to clue-in Granger to his belief about Potter's current mental capacity. Miss Weasley seemingly agreed with her brother, based on the narrowed-eyed study she made of Potter.

None of it went unnoticed by Potter himself...

Frustrated, Severus quickly ran out of things to do but ponder events once more, and found himself a spot to settle-in for a while, finding that if he focused enough on something physically present, like the rafters supporting the enchanted ceiling, he could touch it as if he were physically there as well. Although, it was 'touch' in the vaguest sense of the word, as all he felt when he perched himself on one of the load-bearing beams was a similar coolness to what he felt when he passed through the Hospital Wing door, and the floor as Potter dragged him along.

At least from that vantage point he would stop distracting Potter from his properly visible and audible acquaintances, lest he send his only link to the living world to the loony-bin by association.

Severus wondered if it was possible for ghosts to go insane, because he felt sure that, if Potter were to be his only contact in this existence, he would rapidly loose his mind.

Solitude, he decided then, while having little to do but ponder the meaning of life, so to speak, was not as pleasant as Severus had once found it.

Before his death, more often than not, he wished for little more than to disappear at the end of the day; to do anything that kept his mind occupied enough to avoid letting his demons run rampant in his skull, and be _alone _whilst he did it.

Severus had never been a particularly social person in life; preferring to brew or read a book in isolation than prance about about in public for any reason that was not a requirement. As it was, if it were not for Dumbledore's brook-no-nonsense order, handed-down upon him at the signing of the paperwork for his tenure, that Severus must attend _all _Hogwarts meals and events, few would have ever seen him outside of the dungeons, and even fewer outside of class, unless they were stupid enough to catch him on his usual patrol after curfew, and many a student had deeply regretted meeting Severus in a dark corridor during the night... as had several teachers, for that matter.

It was not that he disliked people, persé... he just did not feel the need to actively seek out and surround himself with them. Neither was he particularly fond of the usual, universally accepted social conducts, where skirting around sensitive issues for the sake of peoples _feelings_ was the norm, and withholding certain truths for the same reason was even more-so.

Mind-you, if it were _Severus' _feelings being stamped upon by another's purposely dealt insensitivity... _that _was a _completely_ different story.

Yes, he _was_ well aware of his own double-standards.

However, now that Severus could not be seen or be heard by anyone other than Potter – the matter of which had become even more undeniable after his little outburst when not _one_ person screeched or pointed at him – he found himself feeling almost... outcast. More-so than he had felt during his last year of life; at least during that time people had hated him, which was still an acknowledgement of his existence. He had never had the opportunity to experience it before, but there was nothing more disturbing, even to a generally antisocial person such as Severus, than to walk into a room full of people and go completely unnoticed, especially considering he was used to reducing entire classrooms of children into blithering wrecks with his mere presence...and that was _before_ he let loose with his veritable arsenal of scathing remarks.

Severus' voice, visage, and mind; his three most powerful features. He was denied two of them and the last was rendered almost ineffective in their wake – to all but Potter.

Perhaps fate had called in a friend, and now karma was having a laugh as well; payback for all those years of tormenting others with words and theatrics came to him in the form of the denial of his best attributes.

It was ironic, really.

Below him, Molly Weasley was apparently rounding up her litter for some purpose or another, which in turn roused the few people other people in the hall who remained at Hogwarts into movement; milling about to leave.

Severus spotted Potter just before the boy looked up at him as he rose to file out of the hall with the rest of its occupants, a question marked by a slightly raised eyebrow; _Are you coming?_

As if he had a choice in the matter.

He would figure it all out eventually... but first he needed some input from the only person he could rely on, other than himself.

…..oOo...

Harry thought he was doing quite well in going unnoticed as he surreptitiously watched Snape float around the hall above their heads, right up until Snape had startled him into laughter, and then again with his little speech, which had sent Harry in to hysterics – because he had _never_ heard anything of the sort come from Snape's mouth before – and all he could think of to cover his slip was to cough instead.

_That _had done nothing to reassure Ron or Ginny of his mental health, who had heard him laugh despite his attempt at hiding it, and Ron started shooting meaningful looks at Hermione as he smacked Harry across the back with more force than strictly necessary. Hermione had the good sense to simply look annoyed, though Harry imagined she probably agreed with Ron anyway, and shared her boyfriend's concern.

If he was honest, Harry agreed too, as Snape's uncharacteristic outburst had done nothing to dispel his earlier thoughts about the man being a figment of his imagination...

But he hoped he was wrong.

"–patch-up the second floor today." Mrs. Weasley was saying when Harry tuned back into the conversation going on around him, after watching Snape perch in the rafters, appearing very much like the bat many students had referred to him as over the years.

"Second floor?" Harry repeated, looking over to Molly, curiously. Ron's words to him earlier about repairing Hogwarts resurfacing in his mind.

"Yes, dear, the castle won't fix itself now, will it?" Molly replied, but not unkindly, then gestured to the hall around them, "We fixed all of this yesterday. It's good to keep busy..."

Harry understood there was an unsaid '_and not think about other things' _missing from the end of that sentence. Not think about _Fred_.

"McGonagall suggested we work our way up through the levels of Hogwarts. "said Neville, on Hermione's right, "Do repairs as we go... unless we find of a better way to go about it." he shrugged, "McGonagall should be back later with reinforcements from the Ministry anyway... after she's made that statement to the Ministry. Dunno who she'd be able con into coming though; Who'd want to come here when they've got their own stuff to do now that it's all over?"

"Because people _care _about Hogwarts, of course!" Hermione snapped, "She won't have to 'con' anybody."

"Maybe..." said Neville and shrugged again, "I just don't think there'll be many coming. If any."

Hermione was about to reply, but was silenced herself as Molly stood and clapped her hands with a huff of "Alright, then!"

It was a good thing too, because Hermione had that stubborn set to her jaw that suggested she was going to tell Neville a detailed list of every reason why she thought he was wrong.

"Well, come-on you lot, talking about it isn't going to get anything done!" said Mrs Weasley, and looked around at them all expectantly until they slowly, reluctantly, started moving to follow her. Their movement seemed to prod almost everyone else in the hall into heading out as well, and they began filing out of the hall en-mass.

Harry was one of the last to rise, and did so as he looked up to the rafters for Snape who, it appeared, was already looking for Harry anyway.

Real or imaginary, adequate or not, he was quite happy to see the man scowling at him as he floated down from his perch above.

"Come on, Harry!" Ron called, and Harry turned to see his friend watching him, waiting for him with that concerned frown plastered to his face.

"Best get a move on, Potter." said Snape, smirking when Harry flinched.

"Wasn't expecting you to come down that fast..." Harry muttered, trying to move his lips as little as possible while he moved to follow Ron. "You really have to stop sneaking up on me."

"Do I? Perhaps so..." Snape fell into step with him on his left as Harry walked out of the hall, as did Ron on his other side when he caught up to the redhead, "But first, you and I need to have a little... discussion."

Harry wanted to ask why, and how, but with Ron walking beside him, shooting glances from the corner of his eye every few seconds, he could do little more than blink a few times and hope that Snape understood.

"Make an excuse." said Snape, jerking his head in Ron's direction, "I've seen already seen _one _utterly brilliant example of your ability with _those_ today. Let's see if you can't best it. Hm?"

After a moment, when Harry kept on walking, he added "Now, Potter." in a tone that sounded very much like an order.

Harry frowned.

Snape sighed, "I am not attempting to tell you what or what not to do, Potter, but I had _hoped_ you would want to get to the bottom of this... _predicament_ as quickly as possible. The fact that it appears you are the centre of the universe, even _now, _does not amuse me in any way, shape or form,and I am sure you will tire of my presence because of it soon enough."

_Universe? _Harry thought in confusion. What on earth was Snape on about?

He turned to Ron, "Er, hey, I'll catch up with you. Second floor right?"

Ron cocked an eyebrow, "Yeah... where're you going?"

"The loo, if you have to know."

Ron snorted, "Uh, right... want some company?"

Harry made a face at him, and Ron turned pink at the tips of his ears.

"Ugh, forget I said that, alright?"

Harry nodded, "Absolutely. It's already locked away with all my other traumatic memories."

Snape snorted.

"Er, you do that." said Ron, ears darkening further, "Well... see you in a bit, then..." and he hurried away.

The moment Harry was sure he was out of sight and earshot of anyone nearby, he looked to Snape.

"Happy now?"

"Quite. An excellent demonstration of the use of your mind once more, Potter, but I fear that if Mister Weasley had not stuck his foot in it so absolutely you would have not been able to be rid of him with that pathetic excuse for an... excuse."

Harry sighed, ignoring him, "Where do you want to have this 'discussion' then?"

Harry was sure he saw the man smile just slightly, "I have no qualms in leaving that entirely up to you, Potter. I will suggest that you choose a place that will be private however, since we do not want any eavesdroppers listening to you talking to yourself."

Harry set off towards the ground floor class-rooms.

"You don't have to tell me that."

…..oOo...

O


	7. Chapter Seven: Overcome

Longest. Chapter. Ever. 4600 words.

Yeah, it's long(ish). But, I did it with reason, as rushing this (admittedly acidental) conversation would have made it meaningless. I do hope it's understandable.

Thanks again to all the lovely reviewers out there, and the 80+ people that have this story on alert, and the random 4000 hits that seem to mosty come from the States. :D

Enjoy!

O

**Chapter Seven: Overcome**

...oOo...

The ground-floor classrooms, as Harry understood from snatches of conversation he heard in the Great Hall, had mostly been being used as makeshift dormitories for the few people staying at Hogwarts who did not want to revisit and stay in their House dormitories, but, as most of those few people had already left, Harry figured the rooms would be empty now.

Sure enough, the second room Harry peeked into contained nothing more than desks and an item relative to the subject being taught there; which was Ancient Runes, if the title of the fat, leather-bound book sitting on a nearby desk told him anything... not that he could actually _read_ the title, but the Rune-script gracing its cover was obvious enough to him.

He hadn't put up with Hermione mumbling about the subject incessantly through his third year for nothing after all.

It was odd though; wasn't the Ancient Runes classroom was on the sixth-floor? Maybe the book had just been misplaced.

Oh well.

"So, what did you mean when you said that I'm the center of the universe?" Harry prompted, the moment he shut the door to the empty classroom and locked it. He cast _Muffliato _on the door as well, as an afterthought. Snape watched his wand movement with the slightest hint of amusement.

_Ah... _Muffliato _was a spell the Half-Blood Prince made-up._

One of Snape's spells.

Harry had forgotten.

"I meant that your ego has become such that it can now be classified as a small sun." Snape deadpanned, amusement gone, "Really, what do you think I meant?"

Harry blinked.

Snape crossed his arms and eyed him with haughty annoyance, "Take my words literally, Potter: you appear to have a small gravitational field surrounding your very being – but I seem to be the only planet being pulled into orbit."

Harry blinked again, "Uh, astronomy wasn't my best subject..."

"The same could be said of many others." Snape sighed, "Must I spell it out for you?- _Nevermind_! – foolish question – Of _course_ I do..." he uncrossed his arms once more, while Harry contented himself with glaring with enough intent to hopefully burn a hole through the man's see-through skull, "I am, shall we say, _drawn _to you. You move; I follow. I have no choice but to follow, or be dragged along behind you like a dog on a leash. I gravitate towards, and around you, and cannot stray outside of a certain distance from you. Understand?"

_Oh. _Harry tried to keep his glare in place, but he could feel the expression sliding off of his face to be replaced by one of dumbstruck confusion.

"Must I say more?"

Harry waved his hands, "No! No, I got it." Hadn't Harry thought that Snape was circling him in the Great Hall before? Snape had just confirmed his hunch.

So why did he feel out of his depth again?

"This doesn't make sense."

"Thank you for making a note of that, Potter." Snape snapped, then his voice took on a tone of relief, "For a moment there, I was under the impression that I was the only one baffled by all of this. Hence why I came to you to discuss the possible ways there may be to resolve the issue..."

Once more, for the third and last time, Harry blinked in confusion.

"... you're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

Snape gave him a flat look, "_Yes, _Potter." he sighed, the false-relief gone from his voice, "You are certainly not the first person I would choose to brainstorm with, as I wasn't aware you _had_ a brain – let alone one that could storm."

Snape was starting to irk Harry in a way that he hadn't been irked since the man had been booted from teaching Potions, and even after that he had driven Harry to the very limits of his silent annoyance during many a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. He'd almost forgotten how much of a git Snape could be with everything that had happened in the year since his last meeting with him, before he killed Dumbledore and all that had come after.

Why did his emotions have to be conflicted? Harry wanted very much to know why Snape was a ghost, and he absolutely wanted to know why he was tied to Harry so exclusively. He wanted to _help _him_. _

He also wanted to shut him up with Snape's own _Langlock_ jinx. It had worked on Peeves, so it must work on Snape. Surely there couldn't be much of a difference between a poltergeist and a ghost.

The man didn't _have_ to make it so god damn difficult, did he?

Or maybe he did... maybe he really did hate Harry that much.

Did that mean Harry had to put up with his constant antagonism?

No.

After all: Harry really _was _the only person Snape could turn to.

"Then why don't you go talk to someone else?" said Harry, huffing petulantly, "I probably won't be much of a help in any case. As you've been saying; I'm _not_ the brightest spark in the spell, so you'd probably be better-off without me."

Snape cocked an eyebrow, "Potter, I have little choice in the matter. Or have you forgotten already?"

"_I _haven't forgotten anything."

Now it was Snape's turn to blink in bafflement, head tilting to one side, "What point are you trying to...?" then comprehension dawned and he sighed, looking away.

...oOo...

Severus knew he was being difficult, as he had been during their earlier conversation; Severus almost felt as if he had some control over his predicament while he lapsed into his usual antics, his old habits, and belittled Potter with as much zeal as he could muster.

Before, in life, he had lashed out constantly at anyone who happened to catch him at the wrong moment, regardless of whether or not the person on the receiving-end of his wrath deserved it. He did not always do it strictly to be nasty, quite often it was means to amuse himself; a distraction from his demons, and it also helped him to let off steam from his everyday frustrations (Potter, the loss of Lily, Potter, being alive, Potter, the Dark Lord, and Potter), but it was a deep-set part of his nature that had been ingrained within him since childhood.

But, before, he'd had more than one person to lash out at, other distractions, and more than one way of letting off steam... he had his potions, his books, his studies.

Now he had Potter, and that was all. He _had_ no other options. It made him much more frustrated than he had ever been before, so completely out of control, and because of that he had much more of a need to lash out. And, on top of his insecurities about his lack of control, he still had the lingering sense of loss that had not left him since that miraculous warmth had faded, he could faintly feel the pull toward his physical body from somewhere above, as well as the pull toward Potter himself, and the absolute irritation in the irony that it all had to be linked to the boy that had been the bane of his existence since before he had even been born, who was standing right in front of him with his chin stuck out stubbornly, defiantly, and yet wore a look of patience on his face that was only belied to being strained by the creases at the corners of his emerald-green eyes.

It was an expression that spoke in levels; a look that said _I don't _want_ to do it, but if you keep it up, I'll leave._

It was exactly the same expression Lily had worn during Severus' conversations with her through the last few months of their friendship, just before he ruined it all.

He hadn't recognised it all that time ago; he hadn't know what it was. But now it was obvious to him.

And it_ hurt _to see it again.

Now, just as he driven away Lily, Severus would drive away her son.

And then he really would be alone.

_On your deathbed, you regretted not getting to know the boy for who he truly is, _said the sage-like voice of logic in his sub-conscious,_ now you have the chance to change that._

Perhaps he did.

Severus took a deep breath.

"My... apologies... Mister Potter." he said, softly, trying to the find the right words and coming up short, and resolutely refusing to look the boy in the eyes while he knew _that _expression would still be there, "I am not... myself."

"You seem like you to me." said Potter, bluntly, but there was no malice in his tone, just matter-of-fact honesty.

That stung a little, mostly because it was true.

"Yes... yes, I suppose you're right." he admitted, albeit a little grudgingly. He was long out of practice in admitting his shortcomings to others, let alone apologising for them. "I'm not particularly-"

"Look..." said Potter, suddenly, cutting him off, "I get it- actually no, I don't really get it... but I understand? This has got to be difficult for you, but you don't have to do it, do you? Bite my head off, I mean, for every little thing..." he grimaced, "It's like you're in defence-mode, like you expect me to attack you or something and you're just getting-in first. Or is it that you _still_ hate me that much?"

Slowly, Severus turned back to him.

_That_ expression was gone from the boy's face; replaced by one of patience, touched with confusion, a little bit of sadness, and pity- no, not pity – _sympathy_.

It was even worse than before.

He didn't even care about the question he had been asked; how could the boy look like that? Look at _Severus_ like that? Severus; a man who was fundamentally narcissistic and lacked the ability to exhibit any sort of sympathy himself?

He could not relate _sympathy _to himself, because no one felt such emotions in relation to _him;_ fear, hate, exasperation, annoyance, anger, pity, maybe a fleeting moment of empathy, but certainly not sympathy. No one but Lily.

He could almost see the synapses firing behind Potter eyes, seemingly mulling over a heavy thought in his mind, one that Severus couldn't quite guess.

"Do you-?" Potter said, hesitating, a deep crease forming in his brow, "Do you blame me?"

Severus froze.

"What?"

_Blame him?_

He could never have guessed that that was what the boy had been thinking about. Ever.

"Do you blame me?" Potter repeated, "For _this._" he gestured to Severus in general, referring to his state of presence, "Or for everything else? The prophecy. For Vol- the Dark Lord. For reminding you of my- my dad? Or for the death of-"

"Potter-" he didn't want to talk about that. Not now. Not ever, if he could help it.

"-my mum?"

He stopped short.

Potter was watching him closely, eyes wide. Waiting.

_Did _Severus blame him?

"Yes." he said, simply.

He _did_ blame the boy. He really did. Because if _he _had not been born, then the prophecy could never have been traced back to Lily – if the prophecy had existed at all – and she would not have been killed.

But he knew he was lying to himself, because it was easier to fool himself into believing all the fault could be placed solely on Potter's shoulders than to admit his own mistake.

That, had Severus not been so naïve, had he not dabbled in the Dark Arts so willingly, had not joined the Dark Lord. If he hadn't done all of that, then, in all possibility, he would never have heard that damnable prophecy, he would never have misheard it, he would never have passed on that misinformation to the Dark Lord, and he would never have brought that twisted creature down upon Lily – upon her son.

And there was that final 'what-if'. The big one.

_What if_ Severus had never call Lily that unforgivable name on that day all those years ago?

Lily's green eyes were staring at him now, with the same hurt in their depths that had been present that night when she had left him standing in the hall in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady; the night when their friendship had ended.

_Just like Lily; you'll drive him away._

Could he blame Potter for something he had no control over?

Yes. He could and he did. It didn't mean it was right, but he had never been particularly keen on being 'right' when it had come to Potter before had he?

"However, I blame myself more."

...oOo...

Harry wished he hadn't asked.

He had been annoyed – absolutely – and he was sure that he would have left Snape to his own devices if the man had kept it up, but he'd been trying to be as accommodating as possible, hoping Snape would meet him half-way, because it wasn't as if he _wanted _to abandon him.

But the antagonism really _was _unnecessary.

He just hadn't expected Snape to look so... guilty about it; apologising while refusing to meet Harry's eyes. He almost looked like he was hurting. It was faint, as were all of Snape's nuances of expression, but it was there.

And Harry had instantly relented, feeling sorry that he had managed to evoke that reaction from him.

However, Harry's curiosity had been peaked, and he had a hunch that he was getting close to a nerve that, given one more tiny push, would give Harry an answer for all of Snape's blustering.

Harry never really had learnt when to quit, had he?

So he'd pushed Snape a little more, guessed at the reasons for it all with the hope that Snape would react in a way that gave him the answer... or that the man would just tell him on his own.

A momentary thought crossed his mind, pointing out that he was acting like a Slytherin, before he shoved it away.

When he asked if Snape hated him, and the man turned to look at him finally, Harry willed himself to understand the expression in Snape's eyes. He felt that he'd hit the nail on the head with that question, but there was more to it than that... _surely _Snape couldn't hate him the way he used to? Apart from looking like his dad, what reason could there be for him to hate Harry any more?

He'd instantly thought that Snape blamed him for his death.

"Do you-?" Harry began, hesitating, a deep crease forming in his brow, "Do you blame me?"

"What?" Snape looked shocked.

"Do you blame me?" Harry repeated, the waved a hand in gesture to Snape himself, "For _this._"

A thought occurred to Harry then – a realisation that Snape couldn't blame him for his death; he'd been there when he died and Snape hadn't _seemed_ like he wanted to blame Harry for it. He was sure of it.

So, what else could it be?

"Or for everything else? – the prophecy. For Vol- the Dark Lord. For reminding you of my- my dad? Or-"

Snape's eyes widened, "Potter-"

_Oh, it's so obvious now. Why didn't I see it before?_

Snape had already told him.

_'You have your mother's eyes.'_

"-my mum?"

Snape paused, mouth snapping shut, and the emotions that had been present in his eyes before faded away into that unfathomable look – the closed-off, guarded one that Harry had grown up with but had never recognised for what it was.

Harry waited.

_Did _he blame him for his mother? For her death? For haunting him with her eyes? For everything?

"Yes." said Snape, simply.

One word. One little word, and Harry felt his heart sink.

He really wished he hadn't asked.

They'd all died for him or because of him; he'd already thought about that before, but one word from another – from one of the people who had died because of him, no less – that matched up with his self-directed blame and guilt pulled all of it back to the surface once more; all of the emotions that he had been attempting to let out before Snape had spoken with him less than two hours before had seemingly returned and built up without his knowledge, and now they welled in the place that his heart had just vacated, building pressure until he felt might break again-

"However, I blame myself more."

Harry gasped so suddenly he choked, "Wh- What?"

"I said: I blame myself more than I blame you_._" said Snape slowly, watching Harry intently as he enunciated each syllable so deliberately they hit Harry like blows from a sledgehammer, "As much as I would like to lay the blame on you entirely... I realise that it is not... _fair_."

Harry couldn't help staring.

"Events may have come to pass _because _of you," Snape continued, "be it directly, indirectly, or from outside forces . Some of those events definitely may have been made more difficult to manage with your... _involvement_, but... I cannot rightfully blame you for them, for most of it was not-" he paused, considering something, "... It was never your fault."

Harry's mind went blank.

"It's not... my fault?" he breathed, barely audible to his own ears.

_'It was never your fault.' _The words echoed in his mind.

All of a sudden, something snapped, and the pressure was gone from his chest once more; a feeling of lightness replacing it.

He sank down onto a nearby desk and dropped his face into his hands.

...oOo...

Severus had spoken the truth – every word of it. He _did _personally blame Potter for many things that may have been different without his involvement, but, Severus knew that it _wasn't_ a fair judgement to make of him when- really- the boy had little control over those events. Many of which may – or may very well _not_ – have happened, with _or_ without said involvement...

The same could be said of Severus.

They would never know now, would they?

"... It was never your fault."

_Just as much as it _was_ yours._

"It's not... my fault?" Potter breathed; Severus had to strain to hear the words. Then Potter crumpled, like his bones had become liquid in his body, sinking on to a nearby desk and curling into himself in such a way that the reason for it became so blatantly clear to Severus that he wondered why the possibility had never occurred to him before...

Severus did not know that the boy had been blaming himself as well.

How long had Potter had those thoughts? All his life? Since he was told the reason for parent's death? When he heard the prophecy?

He was not to be misunderstood: Severus absolutely blamed Potter for so many things, but Potter was never supposed to _agree _with him! Potter didn't blame himself for _anything_ – Potter was arrogant. An egotist. He was bloody infallible! A legend in his own lunchbox. – Severus had tasked himself with pointing that out to him for years. And all Severus had been doing was add insult to injury- no, he'd been ripping open the injury and pouring salt in the wound.

Why did he care? He blamed Potter as well. Shouldn't he be happy that Potter acknowledged what Severus believed?

And yet he wasn't happy at all.

Severus knew what it was like to bear the burden of self-directed blame. It was not the same as being blamed by someone else.

When somebody _else _blamed you – whether it was the truth or not – you could simply ignore it if he wanted to, even if the words stung. It was possible to file it away for future reference or throw it all away.

But when it was self-inflicted, and you truly believed it _was_ the truth, and if you could not move past it; all you could do was live with it and let it eat away at your soul until there was nothing left but the guilt that went hand-in-hand with belief that is _really_ was _all your fault_.

When it was self-blame, all the words of other did was fuel your own self-loathing.

The forgiveness of others did not heal the wounds, unless it was forgiveness from the one you blamed yourself for effecting. Severus knew that very well, because all the moving speeches Severus had received from Dumbledore over the years had never helped a whit in healing the never-healing wound left open by his guilt concerning Lily. All he'd able to do was live with it and wait until it would be over – until he died with it.

He knew what would heal him was forgiveness from Lily herself.

And that could never be possible, especially now that he could not move-on... to wherever she was.

Potter was the same as Severus: he would never get that closure as long as he lived.

So, why would Severus' words have elicited that kind of reaction from Potter, whom almost seemed... relieved?

_You're one of those that died, remember?_

Ah, so he was...

Severus' words – telling the boy that it wasn't his fault – had been taken as a small bit of forgiveness. Forgiveness from one of the dead that had died whilst trying to protect him, just the same as Lily had. As James had. Even as Black had (as much as it pained Severus to put himself in the same category as James and that mutt).

It may not have been words from any of the others as well, but obviously it was enough just coming from Severus. Despite the fact that he did blame the boy; it didn't matter to Potter, because Severus' truthful acknowledgement of it _not being his fault_ superseded anything else he had admitted he puerilely _wanted_ to believe.

It was not so easy now to damn him for it all.

Now Severus had something else to feel guilty for: tormenting Potter for all those years when the boy had obviously been tormenting himself more than enough for the both of them.

Much the same as Severus had been tormenting himself.

And _there_ was that alien feeling of sympathy...

Potter may have been more like his mother than Severus had ever given him credit for, but he was also very much like himself as well.

That knowledge came as quite an immense surprise to him.

Gathering his composure, Severus leaned against a desk across from Potter and waited.

...oOo...

Just the same as one word bringing down a world of pain upon, one little sentence relieved it.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there for, not a tear on his cheek, just allowing that relief to wash over him.

He was aware that Snape was not forgiving for him anything – that was too much, and Harry didn't expect it – but that little bit of acknowledgement from _him,_ of all people, telling Harry that it wasn't his fault lifted a weight from his heart that he hadn't thought would ever move.

The weight was still there, Harry could feel it's presence, but it was less noticeable now. He felt lighter, somehow.

He now knew why Snape disliked him so, and that was a relief on its own, strangely enough. It wasn't just because of his father, as he had believed was the case for so long. And, really, he'd seen Snape's memories so why hadn't he realise that before? It shouldn't be surprising... but it was.

Hating him because he was like his dad was one thing, but hating him because of his mother and what she meant to Snape was completely different.

And he could live with that.

When he'd composed himself, Harry looked up to find Snape leaning against a desk in front of him, regarding him curiously.

"Potter." he said, inclining his head.

Oh god, he'd just had an almost-meltdown in front of _Snape._

"Uh... sorry..." he could feel his face heating, embarrassed, and looked away.

It was a long moment before Snape replied.

"That is... unnecessary. In fact, _I _should-" he stopped abruptly, and Harry looked back to see Snape chewing over his words. Hesitating, "I did not know."

Harry tilted his head, "Know what?"

"That you- for all this time- held yourself accountable for... the fate that befell your parents."

"And a lot of other things too..." Harry muttered, "Shouldn't I?" A bitter chuckle escaped him, "I thought you agreed with me on that one."

"True." Snape sighed, "But, you have never put much stock in anything I have ever had to say. Why would you begin now?"

"True..." Harry echoed, slightly taken-aback, wondering which way to take that... Did that mean he should disregard Snape's belief that he was blameable? Or should he disregard his statement that it wasn't his fault?

Snape seemed to pick-up on his confusion.

"I'll repeat what I told you before: It is not your fault."

Harry held his gaze for a long moment, considering, then nodded. He may not have entirely agreed, but it was... _good _to hear it be said.

"If you can say that to me, then you should know that it's not yours either."

Snape guffawed, a short loud bark of a laugh that made Harry jump.

"Potter, _I _had a choice. You did not. Do not compare the incomparable."

"But, you said-"

"Never mind what I said. It would not be the first time I have been wrong about you... I believe I am beginning to see that clearly now."

Harry stared.

"Oh, _do_ close your mouth, Potter; unless you _want _to become a human flycatcher."

Harry hadn't been aware he'd opened it, but he snapped his mouth shut with a _click!_.

It was strange, now that he thought about it, this had to have been the longest conversation the two of them had ever had that had not already ended in shouts, insults, and one of them storming off. Snape was almost being...

"You're being nice," he blurted a second later, before he could stop himself, "Now I know I've gone insane."

Snape snorted, "It is a rare occurrence, I'll give you that."

"Hen's teeth rare." he agreed and Snape cocked an eyebrow.

"Chickens do not have teeth, Potter."

Harry smirked, "Exactly, sir."

He was sure he saw the faintest smile tweaking the corners of Snape's mouth at that.

...oOo...

Hen's teeth.

Smart arse.

Severus filed that line away for future use.

"Now," he said, stepping away from the desk, "I believed we have deviated enough from our original topic of conversation for now. Shall we continue?"

He was quite thankful that Potter did not object to that – who nodded – thankful for the change of topic; it was _difficult_ for him to talk as he did about himself and about the past, just as it was difficult to acknowledge his own guilt once more.

_How quickly thing can change._

Lily's- no, _Potter's_ eyes were regarding him expectantly, but patiently.

"Hold out your hand."

...oOo...

O

~**P.S**~

Have you noticed I leave every chapter on a cliffy-ish hanger? I think I have a problem... lol

Severus had a bit of a lightbulb moment, didn't he?

Just so you know, Severus and Harry are not going to be all _bestest friends_ now. Not by a longshot. Also, I believe that my original chapter count was_ extremely_ off. There's absolutely no way that I can finish what I have planned in just five more chapters. Not a chance. So much so that I'm not even going to guess at a new number.

That means you all get more story than I orginally promised. Lucky you.

Maybe I deserve a review to keep me going through the many late nights of typing ahead of me... ;)

Oh! And I got to register for Pottermore! Has anyone else gotten in yet?


	8. Chapter Eight: A Bit of Understanding

So sorry for the delay in publishing the chapter! I was suffering from just a bit of writer's block. I realized what the problem was quickly enough though: if I kept on with the story as I had planned, you all would have had to suffer through a few more more chapters of back-and-forth between Harry and Severus - which I thought would be starting to get boring - so I did a massive bit of revision and rearranged the plot points. :D

Hopefully things will move along with a better pace now and you'll get some of the (many) questions in this story answered.

Enjoy!

..O..

**Chapter Eight: A Little Bit of Understanding**

...oOo...

Potter complied after a second of hesitation, holding out his hand, palm-upwards.

"Don't look so alarmed, Potter. Severus chided, reaching out his own hand, "It's not as if I'm going to bite it off; I lack the appropriate amount of- ah... corporeal aptitude."

"Oh? I hadn't noticed..." the boy returned, rolling his eyes.

When was it that Potter learned to be so sardonic?

Severus bit back a retort and instead focused on the movement of his hand, lowering it over Potter's until their palms touched.

There was that warmth again, just as he had expected to be there, and he tried to focus on the sensation; to dissect it. It happened instantly at the point of contact, and spread up through his arm; sluggishly, at first, then quicker as it reached his shoulder and beyond; pulsing as if it were being propelled through him with a heartbeat he did not have. It was more than just a warmth. It was exhilarating. Positively enervating.

But _what_ was it? And _why _did it have such an effect on him?

"Is there a point to this?" said Potter, his brows knotted together while he studied their slightly intersecting hands.

"Indulge me for a moment longer. Stay still, if possible."

Potter made a noise – almost a moan – nodding fractionally, and the fingers of his raised hand twitched, seemingly cramped, then stilled once more.

He was just testing a sudden idea, Severus told himself, he was _not _drawing out the contact for as long as possible.

Focusing intently on Potter's hand – just as he had done before with the rafters in the Great Hall and desk behind him – he tried to picture the properties of the boy's hand; muscle, blood, bone and sinew, and drew up his memories of the feel of skin, and the warmth living flesh.

If he focused enough, he theorised that he may be able to connect with Potter's hand as he had done to other objects, be able to come in contact with it as if he were a solid being.

But, even with the intensity of his will to physically grasp Potter's hand with his own, it amounted to absolutely nothing, and he passed straight through the offered extremity as if he wasn't there at all, though the warmth suddenly flashed through him more strongly than it had previously.

Severus heard the boy gasp softly.

Puffing out a slightly disappointed breath, Severus withdrew his hand, mind now somewhat fogged by the heady feeling left behind by that warmth which, it appeared, grew stronger the longer the contact was drawn out for.

Potter instantly snatched back own hand as well, balling it into a fist and clutching it tightly with his other hand.

"Cold?" Severus asked, remembering experiencing the odd coolness when coming in contact with a ghost before he had become one himself, "My apologies."

Potter shook his head, thin-lipped, uncurling his fist and waggling his fingers uncertainly, "No... Gone."

"What?" said Severus, taken-aback.

"It felt like my hand disappeared." said Potter, opening and closing his fist a few more times, "It was just cold at first, and then – when your hand went through it just now – " he open it one last time, flicking out his fingers, palm-upwards, in a one-handed half-shrug, "Poof!"

"_'Poof'_...?" Severus echoed faintly, baffled; he hadn't anticipated Potter having a reaction like that to his little test, "Are you certain it is not simply numbness caused by the cold?"

The boy had started shaking his head before Severus had even finished his sentence, "I'm sure. I thought that too, but I've been half-frozen before – went swimming for a sword in a frozen pond, you know? – and this wasn't the same as that... no burning or anything like that; just nothing there at all."

"Why didn't you say something?" Severus snapped, slightly alarmed. The boy looses all feeling in one of his limbs, an obvious side-effect from Severus' ministrations, and he says what?

_Nothing_, that's what.

What if the hand had dropped off? – it was highly unlikely, of course, but the example was valid.

Potter merely shrugged.

_Infuriating boy!_

"And now?" Severus bit out, shunting his annoyance into a dark corner in the back of his mind.

"I'm fine now. It faded – or came back? – just after you stopped doing whatever it was you were doing- What _were _you doing?"

_Oh, thank Merlin... _For a moment he thought he may have unknowingly damaged the boy permanently.

"Testing a theory- two, in fact." said Severus, relieved, turning over this new information in his mind.

What was he supposed to make of it? His own response to any contact with Potter was strange enough on its own. To think that Potter was experiencing something similarly strange, but in almost the opposite way, made it so much more of a conundrum to him that Severus was not sure what do do next.

"And...?" Potter pressed, looking at him expectantly, "Your theories?"

"They are both difficult to explain..."

"Try me."

Trying to shake his mind clear of the fog that still clouded it, Severus pondered how he could describe what was happening to him accurately, while still keeping it as succinct and understandable as possible, for Potter's sake.

Even though Severus acknowledged that he had been misjudging the boy for a long time, now being enlightened to this fact did not mean that he was going to instantaneously begin _over_-estimating him either.

Shifting uncomfortably under Potter gaze, Severus moved to stand by the desk he had been sitting on earlier; he'd use it for a prop, it would work well enough.

"Simply put," Severus began, running his fingers through the dark, wooden top of the desk, "_This _seems to be the only way I am able to interact with the environment – _usually._" pulling his fingers back out of the wooden panel, he focused on it, imagining the way the wood would have once felt to him; the rough grain of the pine, the hardness of it, "However, if I were to concentrate on something, and make myself believe that I can _touch_ that something-" he brought the heel of his hand down on the desk, and satisfactorily 'hit' it rather than sink through it, though it did not cause a sound, "- then I _can_. To an extent."

Potter's head had cocked to one side, watching Severus' fingers silently drum against the desk.

"That's what you were trying to do with my hand..." Potter stated, understanding dawning in his eyes, "But, it didn't work?"

"Obviously not." Severus sighed, crossing his arms, "I imagine you would know if I had succeeded. But perhaps the ability does not apply to living beings... or it simply does not apply to _you _in particular. "

Potter nodded, the asked him "Can you _feel _that?" jerking his head towards Severus' hand.

Severus shook his head, "No." he said and flattened his palm against the desk's surface and caressing it, slowly, regarding the movement thoughtfully as he spoke, "I feel a... resistance, of sorts. A pressure. And there is a certain sensation that comes with it – a coolness, if you like – But, no, I cannot 'feel', as such, as I once did; texture is lost on me, as is temperature, and everything seems to feel the same to me regardless of what it is made from. However..."

He paused in thought.

How could he describe the sensation the boy inflicted on him in a way said boy would understand? He could barely understand the concept of it himself.

"... you appear to be an exception to that rule."

Potter's eyebrows lifted in silent question.

"I may not be able to touch you as I can this-" he patted the desk for emphasis, "-but, contact with you is unlike anything else I have encountered thus far... You said you felt cold to you at first and yet, for me, it was the polar opposite."

"Heat?" Potter, asked looking a little put off.

"Indeed, but... it is so much more than simple heat..." Severus couldn't help the tone of reverence that entered his voice as he spoke, locating the faintest trace of the heat that still lingered within him, "It is like..." he searched for the right word, but Potter beat him to it.

"Magic." the boy stated simply, then added as an afterthought, "That's weird though. I didn't think ghosts could use magic..."

Severus paused as the boys word sunk-in, then shook his head disbelieving.

_Yes, and that magic has apparently lost you your head. _Why hadn't he thought of it himself? – It was so obvious! – But if the warmth he felt was magical energy and, as Potter had said, ghosts could not use magic, did that mean...

Was he absorbing Potter's magic?

No, that couldn't be right.

An yet it made so much sense.

"I think you may be right, Potter." he said, "Aside from you hand, do you feel anything else? Tired? Drained?"

Potter shook his head, looking confused, "No. Nothing like that. And my hand only- er- _disappeared_ for a minute." he raised his hand and waggled his fingers under Severus' nose for emphasis. "Why?"

There was no reason for Potter to lie, Severus knew, but he could not tell if the boy was telling the truth or not – his ability with Legillimency had died with him, it seemed – And the boy's insistence that he was fine did not reassure Severus enough to give him the peace-of-mind he desired.

"I think it may be best if you and I do not come in contact again." said Severus, "Not until I- we know for sure that whatever happened to you, and the magical energy I feel, is not potentially harmful..."

"Alright..."Potter nodded, eyes wide, "You think it could be dangerous?"

"Potentially. Yes, I believe so."

Severus hoped he was wrong.

He hadn't gone through all that he had during his life protecting Potter, and eventually dying for the cause, only to come back as a bloody ghost and kill the boy by sucking him dry of his magic.

...oOo...

Harry's hand had only felt cold, that was all, and he hadn't suspected that anything was different while Snape did whatever it was he was doing to it. But, in the space of a heartbeat, his hand had gone from being simply to to completely _gone, _which contradicted the fact that he could physically _see _that his hand was still clearly attached to his arm, but he couldn't _feel _it any more. It was as if all of the nerves in his had simultaneously died.

Then Snape's own hand had simply slipped straight through it, and the feeling once again returned to his seemingly detached extremity.

He'd had to clutch at it with his other hand to reassure himself that he hadn't lost all feeling in it.

And Harry hadn't said anything to Snape about it sooner, because there was nothing he could have said; he'd had barely had enough time to comprehend what had happened, and Snape pulled away before his mind had caught-up with events and he'd thought to yank his hand away.

Harry could see that Snape was fuming over it, but he had the sneaking suspicion that the man was dismayed more than anything by the thought that he may have hurt Harry in some way.

Harry wasn't going to apologise though. As far as he was concerned; he'd done nothing wrong.

As for everything else that he'd learned in their lengthy conversation – the connection between them. The magic Snape felt when he came in contact with Harry. – All of it surprised Harry greatly, but he did not know what to make of any of it.

But he did wonder when it had begun, and what had caused Snape to come back in the first place.

"Aside from you hand, do you feel anything else? Tired? Drained?" Snape was saying, looking down his nose at Harry critically.

Harry's knee-jerk reaction was to shake his head, but truthfully he _did _feel tired. He'd been feeling tired all day though, so he didn't think anything of it.

"No. Nothing like that. And my hand only- er- _disappeared_ for a minute." he raised his hand and waggled his fingers under Snape's nose to push his point across. "Why?"

For a moment he thought Snape had picked up on his little white-lie, but he seemed to dismiss the thought after a moment's deliberation.

"I think it may be best if you and I do not come in contact again." said Snape "Not until I- we know for sure that whatever happened to you, and the magical energy I feel, is not potentially harmful..."

"Alright..." said Harry, nodding, but he was confused, "You think it could be dangerous?"

"Potentially. Yes, I believe so."

The loss of feeling in his hand was concerning, for sure, but why did Snape believe it could be dangerous?

Thinking it over, the answer was easy enough to guess, even for Harry.

"You're taking my magic." he said bluntly, quite shocked by his realisation, and instantly regretted saying it when Snape stopped short, eyes narrowing at him darkly. Harry sounded like he was accusing the man of theft.

"You think so, do you?" said Snape, softly.

"No!" he said quickly, waving his hands quickly and hopping up from his seat on the desk, "That sounded bad- I'm sorry. I meant- well, that's what _you_ think, don't you? That's why you don't want me to touch you, isn't it? You're afraid you might hurt me somehow."

Harry mentally slapped himself then; Snape wasn't _afraid _of something like that.

Snape eyed him for a long moment before seemingly putting aside any anger he had over Harry's misspoken accusation. "It is." he conceded, and Harry was surprised the man didn't deny being afraid, "You came to the same conclusion, I see."

"I did." said Harry, then went on hurriedly, "But I don't understand how it's possible. I think I said it before, but... I didn't think ghosts could use magic?"

"They cannot."

"Then how can you be taking mine?" said Harry, hoping the man would tell him something that negated all possibility of it being true, "How can you take something you can't use?"

"I don't know..."

Harry wanted to ask him why he didn't know; Snape had always seemed to know everything – or he had always acted like he did at least – but now he seemed to be just as confused as was.

Snape was tied to him, Harry understood that, but if Snape was sapping his magic, even though ghosts were not supposed to be able to use magic in the first place... then that meant that either; it was not magic that the man was absorbing, or...

"Are you sure you're actually a ghost?"

Snape stared at him.

"What do I _look _like to you, Potter?"

"A ghost." said Harry, and it was true; Snape _did_ look like a ghost – all silvery and see-through, "But... I dunno. Maybe you're a different kind of ghost? You could be like Peeves or something; a poltergeist."

"No." Snape stated, flatly.

"Why not?"

"If you had been paying any attention to your classes during your time here, you would know that a poltergeist is a completely different being to a ghost – that is, if Peeves himself did not harangue you enough to give you a first-hand demonstration of that fact."

Harry felt his temper flare, "Call me a dunderhead or whatever then, because I can't remember. Alright? I know they aren't the same thing, but there really isn't that much of a difference between them besides how they look is there?"

Snape sighed, shaking his head, "I cannot be a poltergeist because _I _was once alive. They are all spirits, that is true, but poltergeists are beings unto themselves; they were never alive at any point in their existence."

Harry instantly felt like an idiot; how could he have forgotten that?

"Do you see now?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

Snape smirked all of a sudden, "I will give you this, Potter; you actually made me doubt my own existence for a moment. Well done."

"That wasn't what I wanted to do..." Harry mumbled, feeling guilty now. He looked away.

"I understood that." said Snape, "However, your thoughts do have some merit to them... they have given me an idea."

Harry's head swung back to stare at the man, who smirked again.

"You and I are going to find ourselves a ghost."

...oOo...

Fifteen minutes later, Severus was floating along behind Potter, en route to seeking out a ghost, other than Severus himself, that they could pick the mind of for some much-needed answers.

As Potter had thrown his ideas at Severus, about being a poltergeist or a special kind of ghost and such, Severus had realised that he had not actually come face to face with another ghost since his awakening that morning; perhaps _they _could see Severus – there was no reason why the shouldn't be able to – and he could ask them about this link to Potter, if anything of the sort had happened to them when they first become ghosts themselves, his supposed syphoning of Potter's magic, or why he became a ghost in the first place when he had had no desire to do so.

Of course, actually _finding _a ghost was easier said than done; they wafted around the castle as they saw fit, and , as such, pin-pointing the location of one, especially one that would be talkative enough to aide them, in a castle the size of Hogwarts, would be about as difficult as finding that fabled needle in the proverbial haystack.

Only one of Hogwarts' ghosts was ever in the exact same place, or not far from it, all day, everyday, as she had been since 1943.

So, after a moment of refusal and a groan from Potter when Severus told him exactly what he had planned, they had headed off to the second floor.

The girl's bathroom on the second floor, to be exact.

"She's going to love this." Potter grumbled, as he climbed the final few stairs to the second floor.

"You say that as if it is a bad thing."

Potter grimaced, "It _is _a bad thing." he hissed quietly, passing a trio of students that were magically repairing a section of wall that had apparently been shattered in the battle the day before. "Myrtle _loves_ talking about her death..."

"And that is exactly what I want to ask her about."

"You don't even know if you'll be able to ask her yourself. Then I'll have to talk to her instead and she- she..." he shuddered, "She _likes _me."

"And being liked is a dreadful thing... Really Potter, take your nose out of the air."

"That's not it at all!" Potter snapped, glaring at him from the corner of his eye, "She _like _likes me."

_Like likes...? _It took a moment for the meaning of that to occur to Severus, then he burst out laughing.

Potter flushed.

"I see." he snickered, "You really do have admirers everywhere. Even in other plans of existence."

"It's not funny! She even followed me into the bath once."

Severus just laughed again at that, "Oh, but it is, Potter. It is."

The boy lapsed into an embarrassed silence and rounded the corner at the end of the corridor.

"Oi!"

Potter stopped short, and Severus pulled up behind him.

The youngest Weasley boy stood just a little ways down the corridor, wand in one hand and the other raised in a wave. Some of his elder siblings were located further along, magicking various pieces of wall back into their rightful places, or righting a suit of armour or portrait, while others stopped to look when their brother shouted. As did Granger, who hovered close by Ronald, dropping the magically levitating piece of stone she was working with.

Ah, of course... he'd overheard the Weasley boy talking about making repairs on the second floor earlier.

"Blimey mate," said Ronald, walking up to Potter quickly, "Did you fall into the loo or what? We were wondering where you'd nicked off to... Ginny went looking for you."

Potter shuffled his feet. "Er- I got... sidetracked."

"Doing what?" asked Granger as she joined them, standing beside Ronald, who sheepishly slipped an arm around her waist.

_Oh dear God..._

"Potter, please tell me your friends are not... ugh... no- don't tell me; I can guess."

"What did you expect?" Potter murmured under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?" said Granger, brown eyes narrowing at Potter suspiciously.

"I- er... was helping someone. Lending an ear..."

"Who?"

"I'd rather not say..."

Weasley and Granger exchanged a meaningful look, the kind that people exchanged when they agreed on something serious that could not be said, and were about to become a united front against it (or for it, if the situation called for it).

"Look, mate..." Weasley began, in a tone that was obviously meant to be one of placative understanding, "We get that you're a bit stressed out – we all are – but, seriously... you've been acting weird since you came back from- from... yeah, getting you know who-"

"Jeez, Ron. I'm not going to break down into a blithering mess if you say his name. Would be better than calling him _that – _youmay as well call him bloody _Voldemort..._"

Severus winced inwardly.

"_Snape_, then. And that's not what I meant, and you know it." Weasley went on, "The point is that we can see that it's bothering you. We're all worried about you, mate, so why won't you talk to us-"

"I'm fine!" Potter cut in sharply, "Look, you don't need to tell me that you think I'm going mental – I've been telling myself that plenty enough already – but if I tell you what's bothering me, neither of you are going to believe me-"

"Harry!" Granger cried, looking hurt, "When have we ever not believed you?"

"I can think of loads of times, but that's not the point-"

"Hey!" Weasley looked angry now, "I know there've been a few times where we didn't believe you at first – and I know I was usually a bit- or a lot of a prat about them it too – but you always made us come around eventually. You always proved-"

"That's just it, Ron: I _can't_ prove anything right now. You won't understand."

The pair gawked at him.

"Harry..." Granger pleaded, softly, "Won't you give us a chance? We can't even _try _to understand if we don't know what's going on..."

Potter started shaking his head, but Severus stopped him.

"She has a point Potter."

The boy turned his head enough to look sideways at Severus.

"If you are going to go so far as to tell them that you yourself think you're loosing your mind, and then refuse to tell them the reason for your self-doubt, they are going to think you truly need help and probably stage an intervention. They will want to force it out of you eventually... you may as well tell them the truth."

Potter snorted disbelievingly.

"Don't listen to me if you wish," Severus snapped, "But forthright honesty certainly cannot make your current predicament any worse at this point."

"Harry?" said Granger, the pair were watching Potter dubiously.

The boy breathed in deeply and sighed.

"I'm being haunted by the ghost of Severus Snape."

...oOo...

..O..

Thanks again for all of your reviews last chapter, I was so doubtful of it, but you all seemed to enjoy it anyway. :) I think I'm my own worst critic.

And, oh, look; another cliffish end... whoops... chapter nine _should _be up soon (now that I've fixed my issues with it).


	9. Chapter Nine: Revelations

It's here! Now breathe again!

..O..

**Chapter Nine: Revelations**

...oOo...

The three of them, plus Snape, had relocated to the empty Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom down the corridor, where they had dragged a few chairs together and sat while Harry attempted to explain what had been happening to him that morning, relating everything he could think of to them since Snape's appearance. The fact that no one could knew he was there but Harry, the link between them, the short leash the man was on. Everything.

Well, not _quite _everything; he'd left out the part about his semi-breakdown in the empty classroom, and the other break-down in the hallway outside of the Hospital Wing.

And hadn't yet gotten to tell them about the possibility that Snape was absorbing his magic... he wasn't sure if he wanted to tell them that just yet.

"It all sounds so unbelievable..." said Hermione uncertainly, looking around the room in a way that suggested to Harry that she she was trying to see for herself if Snape was really there.

"I know it does." Harry agreed, "But there's not much I can do about it."

"I realise that! But- Oh, _Harry!_ You must know how it looks from our point of view... you're telling us all of this information and I'm trying to think of a way this could be possible, and I'm trying so hard to see him here with us now, but I just can't!" she shook her head hopelessly, "It doesn't even feel like there's a ghost here to me... you know how you can feel it when the Bloody Baron is around- like someone's watching you... but I don't feel anything at all. I want to believe you Harry, I really do-"

"I believe it." said Ron all of sudden. It was the first thing he had said since Harry had told them he was being haunted by Snape's ghost.

Hermione turned to Ron sharply, staring at him incredulously.

"You do?" asked Harry, hopefully.

Ron shrugged, "Why shouldn't I? Look, it's true that I've been thinking all morning that you'd gone bonkers, but really; the three of us have seen way too much really unbelievable stuff happen and we believed all of _that_... so why start now?"

"But, Ron!" Hermione snapped, "There isn't anything written in any book I've ever read about a ghost being invisible to absolutely everybody but one person, or being tied to someone-"

"So what?" said Ron, "The Hallows were supposed to be a legend, and _they_ were in a book. But being in a book didn't mean the legend was true- uh, I mean, it didn't make it a real legend – you know what I'm getting at? – It was all real, not just a story. Books don't have all the answers, 'Mione. So, why should this be any different? Just because we can't see something, or don't believe it or whatever, doesn't mean it's not real..." he trailed off, shrugging again, "That's what I think, anyway..."

Hermione gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, trying to formulate some kind of rebuff and failing, then, after a full fifteen seconds of her wordless mouthing, managed to breathe out a high pitched gasp of "_Ronald Weasley!_" apparently gaining back the use of her voice.

Ron stiffened, bracing himself for –

"I think I love you."

Ron's eyebrows scrunched together and an incredulous "You _'think'_-?" was all the red-head managed to say before Hermione leaned over, grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and snogged him.

"I think I may vomit..." Snape moaned, turning his back on the lot of them.

Harry snickered, fixing his gaze on his knees and picking at a stray thread in his pants.

"I think you're traumatising Snape..." Harry murmured to the air, resolutely _not_ looking in the direction of his friends' public display of affection.

"Quite." Snape grumbled, "I believe I've been scarred for life- death... _eternity..."_

"Poor you." said Harry, biting back a laugh.

"Shut-up, Snape." said Ron, coming up for air with excellent timing, and Harry took a peek to see the two of them looking at him. Hermione looking decidedly flushed, while Ron seemed quite pleased with himself.

"I think they're done." sad Harry in mock-relief.

"Shut up, Harry." said Ron, though there was not venom in his voice.

"Thank Merlin for little miracles." said Snape, spinning on the spot to look at them once more, while Harry snickered again.

Ron was glancing around, "Complaining, is he?" he asked.

"Yep." said Harry, simply.

"Rightfully so!" Snape barked, annoyed, "_They _may have difficulty believing I am here, but why must _I_ suffer for it?"

"You'll live- er... or not."

"_You little_-"

Hermione stood abruptly, cutting Snape off, though she didn't know it.

"Enough about that." she said, in her best brook-no-nonsense tone, face still pink, then moved to stand by Harry – almost directly in front of Snape, as it were. Harry guessed she had seen him looking at Snape and figured out where he was.

"Sir, what was it that you wrote on the last piece of Defence Against the Dark Arts homework I ever turned-in to you?"

"Really, Ganger? Potter, repeat after me..."

"Uh..." Harry began, listening and reiterating awkwardly, "He says he gave you an _Outstanding_ but told you... that you have a remarkable ability in memorising your textbooks word-for-word, but lack all ability to take the information in those textbooks and formulate your own opinion of the subject at hand. Knowledge does not equate to understanding and you'll never get on in the real world if you continue to bury your head in the facts and never address the conjecture... - yeah, I'm not going to repeat the rest of that. And he crossed out the _Outstanding _and changed it to _Acceptable... _you never told me about that, Hermione." then added, to Snape, "And you're cruel."

"When have I ever demonstrated differently?" said Snape with a smirk.

Hermione was squinting again, "I didn't think it was necessary to tell anyone as... things happened after that." She held extended her arm in front of her as if for a handshake. "Sir, if you would be so kind..."

"Kind!" Ron sniffed, _"Ha!"_

Snape ignored him, instead looking down at Harry, "Potter, I avoided everyone in the Great Hall this morning to prevent from causing a stir... I do not know if Miss Granger here will have the same reaction as you if I were to indulge her request."

Harry shrugged, "Now's as good a time as any to see if I'm the exception then, isn't it?"

"Exception to what?" Hermione asked, glancing at Harry curiously.

"He thinks you might have an odd feeling if he shook your hand. Like I did."

"'_Odd feeling'_?"

"Yeah. Felt like my hand disappeared, just for a moment." Harry shrugged, "It came back though."

Hermione looked a little concerned at that, but turned her eyes back to the seemingly empty space in front of her anyway.

"I'm alright with that, sir." she said, determinedly.

"On your head be it." Snape muttered – though Harry wasn't sure whether the man meant Hermione's head or Harry's – extending his own hand to intersect hers

But Hermione didn't show any sign of noticing a thing.

"That proves that." said Snape, matter-of-factly

Harry sighed, slumping in his seat.

"I take it that I should be feeling something right about now...?" said Hermione uncertainly, arm still outstretched as Snape fiddled with the proffered extremity without any reaction from her; flicking his own hand through it a few more times for good measure, and muttering inanely about the _'centre of the bloody universe'._

"Mmm-hmm..." Harry grunted affirmatively. "It was a good idea though." he added after a moment, reaching up to pat her on the arm. Just at the same moment that Snape finally moved to pull away...

The instant Harry's finger made contact with her elbow, Hermione gasped and flinched, stumbling backwards as if she'd been struck.

Ron was instantly by her side while all Harry could do was gape at her while she doubled-over and panted, as out of breath as she would be if she'd just run a mile, rubbing her forearm, eyes closed.

"What was that?" asked Ron, alternating between looking at Hermione with worry and then to Harry with bafflement, "What happened?"

"I have no idea..." said Harry weakly. He had sensed the faintest trace of a chill in his fingertips when they had brushed against Hermione's skin, but what was he supposed to make of that? Judging by the bewildered expression on Snape's face, he was just as confused as Harry.

"'Mione- you alright?" Ron was asking, catching Hermione's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, but she shrugged him off.

"I'm fine. Fine. Just- let me- catch my breath." she puffed, a shudder running through her, "That was just... a bit of a shock- like getting a zap off of the aerial on the telly... but worse."

"Getting a what off the _what_?" said Ron, then looked to Harry again desperately, "What's she going on about?"

"Electricity, Ron. Like lightning." Hermione snipped, shaking her head. She then attempted to collect herself, straightening up from her slouch, though her breathing was still quicker than it should have been. "It went straight through my arm." she added, rubbing her arm absently as she flopped into the closest chair she could reach and tilted her head back, breathing deeply. "Cold and hot and painful and pins-and-needles- ugh!" she shuddered again. "It took my breath away..."

"An arc of magical energy..." Snape muttered to himself, barely loud enough for Harry to hear, "How curious."

"Arc of magic?" Harry questioned, but before Snape could even open his mouth to answer him, Hermione gasped "Ah!" and leant forward on her seat so quickly she nearly fell off it.

"Did you say it was an arc?" she asked, the words running into each other in her haste to get them out, "Of magic? How is that possible? _If_ Professor Snape _is_ a ghost – oh, and I may not be able to sense you, sir, but I absolutely believe you're there. Harry couldn't have done that on his own – then that just can't happen; ghosts can't use magic, Harry. They don't-"

"I know I know." Harry said hurriedly, "I was just asking him what he meant by-"

"I meant exactly what I said, Potter," Snape cut-in, "Tell me you did not feel a coolness when you touched Miss Granger just now?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I did. But, how did you-? Oh! You had the opposite – that warmth – when you touched her, just like when you touched me before? But I thought I was the only one that felt like that to you?"

"Yes. You are, and I maintain my belief that I am absorbing your magic because of that, Potter. In this instance I believe Miss Granger merely acted as a bridge between the two of us for a brief moment; when we both came in contact with her. As impossible as that is..." he shook his head, unbelieving.

"But how could- Hang-on... _What?_ You felt _my_ magic _through _Hermione?"

"I beg you pardon?" Hermione squeaked, looking shocked, "It was _your magic _that I felt, Harry?"

"Snape thinks he's absorbing my magic somehow, and that you were a bridge between us just then."

"But ghosts _can't_ use magic, Harry." Hermione repeated, slightly exasperated, "So, Professor Snape _can't be _taking yours."

"I know, Hermione. I'm just repeating what he said."

"OI! Would somebody tell me _what the bloody hell is going on_?" Ron demanded, loudly, and both Harry and Hermione's heads whipped around to face him as one.

They'd forgotten he was there for minute, and Ron looked fully aware of that fact and thoroughly annoyed with them for doing so, and leaving him out of their three-way – well, two-and-a-half-way – conversation.

"Sorry, Ron..." said Hermione, guiltily, and reached over to grab his hand, "What do you want to know?"

Ron shrugged and squeezed her hand,"Let me catch up, would you...? I got that Snape's nicking Harry's magic, and you got hurt by Harry's magic while Snape tried to nick it through you? Right?"

"Right." Hermione nodded, "But Professor Snape _can't nick-_"

"Yeah, I got that too. But what happened then if that's not it?"

Hermione's eyes widened a little and she glanced to Harry, who raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was an inoffensive '_let's hear it then' _kind of way.

Hermione dropped her gaze and muttered "I don't know." at the floor.

"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there." Snape scoffed.

"Are you sure you're a ghost, sir?" Hermione continued, more confidently than before, addressing the room at large.

"I asked that before." said Harry, quickly, "He says he can't be anything else. I suggested a poltergeist-"

"That's silly, Harry-"

"I know! Idiot me!" Harry threw his arms up and Snape snorted derisively at him. "Shush, you."

"_Sir_, Potter. _Sir._"

"_Alright!_ Shush, _sir."_

Ron caught-on to the half-conversation he was hearing and laughed, while Snape glowered at Harry with enough venom to make him blush unintentionally in apology.

"Potter, as much _fun _as this all is for you, there are more pressing matters to attend to... and though it is true that we now have _one more_ superiorly vague clue to point us in the right direction to figuring this out – an excellent thing, I'm sure – it is also true that, regardless of how much it is discussed at this moment, we'll find no answers to anything important merely within the knowledge bases of you and I – and Miss Granger and Weasley too I suppose-" he added grudgingly, "-alone..."

"I'm not so sure I've gone mental any more though." Harry pointed out, "One good thing."

There was a slight curve to the corner of Snape's mouth as he replied, "Debatable, as you now seem more willing to drive _me _insane."

Harry bit his lip, "Just a joke... sir."

"Oh, yes. Hilarious." Snape dead-panned, then went on more seriously, "May we leave now? Your friends seem to be convinced enough of your sanity themselves- enough to prevent them from having you carted off at least."

"Yeah, yeah. Moaning Myrtle, here we come..." Harry sighed, ruefully. He wasn't looking forward to that meeting.

"Myrtle?" Ron piped-up, watching Harry stand, "What d'you want to see _her _for?"

"To ask some questions." Harry shrugged, "She's the only ghost in the castle that's easy to find... and besides; she's more talkative than most of the others combined."

...oOo...

Five minutes later, the four of them edged into the Myrtle's bathroom. Severus thoroughly enjoying watching the expressions of distaste flitting across Potter, Weasley and Granger's faces.

The conversation with Potter's friends had been important for Potter's sake, Severus had put up with it for as long as he did for that reason alone. Although, the event concerning Granger was interesting to say the least... the connection between himself and Potter was strange enough as it was, but Severus wondered if he had misjudged their link entirely – if it could arc through Granger as it had, then perhaps it was much, much stronger than he had first imagined.

And that realisation unsettled him entirely.

He was beginning to wonder if it was as Potter had said; that Severus was not a ghost at all.

But, what else could he be?

"Oh, this place is dreary..." Granger complained, as she stepped daintily over a puddle on the floor.

"I can think of something else that's dreary." Weasley muttered, "And she's not about, by the looks of things..."

True enough; Moaning Myrtle was nowhere to be seen.

"She's probably down the loo..." said Potter, with distaste, and headed for one of the toilet stalls while withdrawing his wand from his pocket. He opened the door and snapped "_Evanesco Aqua." _flicking his wand at the toilet inside, making the water in the bowl disappear, then "_Accio_ Myrtle!" with another flick, and Severus couldn't help the snort that escaped him.

"Did you truly learn _nothing_ during all of your six years of schooling here at Hogwarts? Or have you merely forgotten that spells are entirely ineffective against ghosts?"

Potter smacked himself across the forehead.

"_Accio_..." the boy hesitated, "-air around Myrtle?"

Severus was about to tell the boy he was an pure moron when Myrtle came shooting out of the loo with speed of a Firebolt and flew straight through Potter, who shouted something incomprehensible and probably offensive and jumped away far too late to avoid her, before the ghost slowed and righted herself in mid-air, looking around in absolute dismay.

That was unexpected.

Then the ghostly girl damn-near exploded.

"WHO DID THAT!" she shrieked, "WHO. DID. THAT!" She was descending on Weasley and Granger in abject fury. She didn't seem to notice Severus standing there.

Weasley instantly pointed at Potter without a trace of remorse.

Coward.

Myrtle spun and rounded on Potter in an instant, howling "WAS IT YOU!" then stopped short, blinking in surprise, "Oh! Harry! _Hello.._." the last was said in a low tone that Severus was sure was an attempt at flirting, if the demented grin on her face was anything to go by – and that was ignoring her bobbing eyebrows.

Had she been bipolar when she was alive? If so, it was probably a good thing that basilisk got to her first... someone would have strangled her eventually.

"Hi, Myrtle..." greeted Potter, plastering on a false smile, and edging away from from the ghost as she sidled up to him suggestively, "Uh, h- how are you?"

"Dreadful as always!" she huffed, "I see you're not dead."

"Er, no?"

"I heard you were. That's _so_ disappointing..." she sniffled, shoulders sagging.

Weasley made a gagging sound and Granger dug an elbow into his ribs.

"I was having an entirely terrible daydream about death while I was down there in the U-bend..." she sighed wistfully, then spat "You disturbed me!" at him accusingly and crossed her arms,"What d'you want?"

"Er- I..." Potter's gaze wandered over Weasley and Granger before coming to a halt on Severus, questioning him silently, "We wanted to ask you some... serious things about... about death. "

"Oooooh!" Myrtle cooed, wholly delighted by the boy's request, "What do you want to know?"

Potter faltered, "Er, first..." he looked to Severus again and pointed, "Do you see him?".

"Him who?" said Myrtle, looking around, "The redhead?"

"No..." again, green eyes met black, both realising the same thing.

If a confirmed, in-the-flesh – or in-the-spectre? – ghost couldn't see Severus either then...

Why couldn't things just be simple for once.

"Who should I see?" Mrytle asked, and Potter waved his hand, "Don't worry about it... um..."

"Ask her if ghosts can make attachments to the living, links like the one between you and I." asked Severus, and Potter did just that.

"Attachments?" Myrtle repeated, "Oh, yes. Absolutely. After I died I haunted Olive Hornby around school for years – she deserved it for teasing me! – and I even followed her after she graduated as well! Until the Ministry came and forced me to come here..." she gestured to the bathroom around them, then whined, "They spoiled all of my fun!"

"How did they force you to leave her alone? Was there a spell to break the link?"

"Spell? No, no, nothing like that... they threatened to send someone from the Spectre-control at the ministry to arrest me if I didn't stop. So I left." she shrugged, "Olive was getting boring to be around anyway."

"Ask how she could leave Miss Hornby so easily, Potter. Did she not feel compelled to return to her?"

"No." said Myrtle, once Harry had repeated the questions, "It wasn't like I _had _to haunt her. I think it would have been horrible if I didn't have a choice..."

Potter pre-empted Severus' next query, "But, _can _ghost be like that? Be linked to someone and have no choice about it?"

Myrtle thought about it for a moment, "I don't think so... I know some of the other ghosts at Hogwarts followed around people they cared about when they were alive for a while, but I think they all did that because they were just feeling sentimental. No other reason..." she shrugged.

"What about a ghost being invisible? Is it possible to choose those that can see you?" Severus asked, and once again Potter reiterated it to Myrtle, Granger and Weasley standing off to once side silently, listening.

"Oh, not all of us can do that. I don't even know how to _try_... and I think if I _could_ do it I wouldn't be able to choose; I would have to pick visible or invisible." she shrugged again, "Maybe I'll ask the Baron about it – he can do it, you know, – but I'm pretty sure he'd say the same as me."

"What about magic?" Potter asked, "I know you can't use it – but can you take it?"

"What?" said the ghost, looking perplexed, "I can't take anything from anyone... are you accusing me of taking someone's magic?" her voice was rising with ire as she spoke and Potter had to head her off before she blew up again.

"No! I know you haven't. But _can you_? Take magic, I mean..." Myrtle was shaking her head before Potter had finished his sentence.

"Nope. Your magical core dies when you do, simple as that. Can't use, can't take, can't give. Why do you want to know all of this anyway? Are planning on dying soon?" she sounded hopeful.

But, Severus was now far from hopeful for himself.

Severus' expectations of Myrtle yielding some positive answers to them were rapidly being dashed with every one of his theories she negated.

He didn't think was much use in asking any more questions... she'd already basically disproved his existence, after all... even though his existence disproved her disproving his existence.

Ah, the absolute simplicity of it all...

Ganger cleared her throat, "Um, excuse me..." she muttered, addressing Myrtle, "What would you say if we told you that we know a ghost that all of this – all that Harry asked you about – is happening to? A ghost that really _can't_ leave the living person he's attached to, even though he wants to... and only that person can see him – or hear him, for that matter – and he might be able to take magic from that... person... too..." she trailed off under the icy glare Myrtle was giving her.

"You're all teasing me, aren't you?" said the transparent girl, her face distorting into a something between rage and hurt, "You're not serious at all, are you? This is all some sick, twisted joke to torment me, isn't it? ISN'T IT!"

Potter was backing away from her slowly as Myrtle bared down on him, "No! It really isn't a joke. I'm serious!"

"No you're not! I've been teased before, but asking me about death to do it is a whole other level of torture for- Oh!" With turn fast enough to give Severus psychological whiplash, Myrtle's temper was gone once more, to be replaced by a grin that nearly split her face in two.

Potter, who had his arms raised in front of him as if he could block the ghost if she decided to punch him, looked at her with absolute confusion, "Myrtle...?"

"Levels!" she shouted at him, "I remember something about levels! There were five of them. Life and Death on each side. When a ghost isn't a ghost and when it is! But- oh no, what was it? Five levels... five levels... of life? Oh no... I can't remember..." she dissolved into incoherent murmurs.

Granger suddenly gasped, a loud enough sound to catch Severus' attention, and just in time to see the bushy-haired girl dart out of the bathroom.

"Where's Granger off to?" he muttered to Potter, who turned around to look for the girl.

"Ron?" Potter asked, drawing Weasley's attention away from Myrtle, who was pacing up and down in front of them with a pained look of concentration on her transparent features.

"Where'd 'Mione go?" asked the redhead, turning a full circle on his heels looking for Granger

"I was going to ask you that." said Potter.

"Granger positively _flew_ out of here." said Severus.

Potter pondered this for a moment, then grinned.

"Where does Hermione go when she has an idea?" the boy asked Weasley, who shook his head at first then stopped the motion mid-shake with a grin to match Potter's.

"The library." they said together.

"Bye, Myrtle!" Potter said, hurriedly, and ran out of the bathroom in much the same way Granger had, Weasley on his heels, and Moaning Myrtle calling out after them that "But I haven't remembered what it was that forgot yet! Come back! HEY! COME BACK HERE!"

Myrtle's shrieks echoed after them down the corridor after them as they passed the extended Weasley family, who were still prodding their wands at the stonework, repairing the castle little by little.

"Potter..." Severus began, floating alongside the boy as he bolted down the corridor in the direction of the moving staircase, "As interesting as Granger's sudden impulse to visit the library may be to you, it is of very little importance to me-"

"It _will _be important to you if Hermione's figured out something about you. As you said, sir. What was it-? Hermione _'has a remarkable ability for memorising textbooks word-for-word'_." he quoted this last part in a voice that Severus supposed was meant to sound like him.

He didn't appreciate it.

"Terrible impersonation, Potter; unlike me entirely. Ten points from Gryffindor."

"I'll take that as a compliment, sir."

Weasley was giggling again as they rounded the last corner and walked out onto the moving staircase. Granger hadn't gained much of a lead, as she was waiting on the landing above for the stair to move in her favour and allow her to reach the next level.

"Hermione!" Weasley shouted at her, and the girl looked down at them from her vantage point, "Did you have to run away without saying anything?"

"I think I know what Myrtle was talking about!" Granger shouted back, "The five levels!"

The stair between them finally shifted into place, and Potter and Weasley sprinted up it to reach Granger, just as the next set of steps moved as well, swinging over to link them to the fourth floor.

"What are the levels then?" said Potter, when they reached her, "And why run off to the library if you already know?"

They started moving up the next stair before they had even finished clunking into place.

"That's just it; I _don't_ know."said Granger "I remember reading something about it ages ago, but I can't be too sure if I'm remembering it right..."

"Is this self-doubt, I hear, from Miss Granger?" Severus sneered, and Potter blatantly ignored him.

"The Five Plains of Existence." said Granger, "Most people believe there are only three plains – Life, Death, and Limbo between them – but there's a legend that goes so far as to say that there are actually _five _plains. If I _am_ remembering right; most wizards and witches think the legend is exactly that: a legend, and put it down as something not worth their time to research... but it struck me as something really interesting."

"But, Hermione, what how does that legend have anything to do with what's going on with me and Snape?"

They reached the fourth floor landing, heading for the corridor that lead to the library, and Granger paused with her hand on the door handle, looking sweepingly through the air around them – for him, Severus guessed.

"Because, if the legend is real, then it's completely possible – even likely – that Professor Snape may not be a ghost at all, but something much more extraordinary."

...oOo...

O

I have to admit... the ending of this chapter was completely intentional this time. Mwahaha! (And I'm well aware of my evilness, thanks. lol)

On that note: Reviews are my brain's favourite food. ;)

(Ah, also, I realised I made a little mistake with the placement of the Hospital Wing. I forgot it moved. First book, it was on the first floor. In the sixth book it was on the third floor... whoops... I'm going to leave it on the first floor for this fic now though. Hope no one cares about that _too_ much.)


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